Thunderstorm
by T3t
Summary: The first time, it was an accident. The second time... well, I really should have known better. HP/Fem!TR
1. Condensation

**A/N: This is my new story, Thunderstorm. Just off the bat I'd like to make sure everybody understands that this is HP/Fem!TR - not slash, and no weird age differences. If you're looking for one of those, you've come to the wrong place, though I daresay you might enjoy this story as well.**

**This won't be stuck on hiatus like my other story, as I've got a much better idea of what I'm doing with it now. Chapter 2 is already written, it just needs to undergo editing, so you probably won't be waiting too long. If you want to get a peek at it sooner, it'll be in the Dark Lord Potter Work by Author section sooner than here, but it won't be as polished.**

**Reviews are appreciated but I won't hold out for them. That said, a free one-shot of your choice to anybody who spots the Name of Wind reference in here and reviews. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy!**

* * *

The summer before my fifth year, my Hogwarts letter arrived with an added surprise: a Prefect's badge. Sirius faked a heart attack, berating me for not creating enough mischief. Remus was more sincere in his congratulations, though Sirius quickly got over himself and started pestering me with questions.

"How did you trick Snape into giving you the badge? Did you bribe him, blackmail him, or… _influence_ him?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

I gave a brief chuckle, and then sighed. "Most of my friends are in Ravenclaw, Sirius. Snape knows I can keep the Slytherins in line without personal relationships getting in the way."

Sirius shut up after that.

A month later, I found myself riding the horseless carriages back up to the castle.

Upon hearing Quirrel's name announced as the new Defense Professor, I gave a silent sigh of relief. All my friends in Ravenclaw had nothing but good things to say about him as the Muggle Studies professor, so I had high hopes for him as a teacher after suffering the previous four years through one mediocrity after another.

My hopes were dashed as soon as the first lesson started and Quirrel turned out to be a stuttering wreck. His explanation of running into a nest of vampires was dubious, to say the least. No sane wizard would ever venture alone into a nest, and anybody halfway competent defense instructor would recognize the signs of such habitation from miles away. I sighed and opened the textbook, knowing I would be working on my own again this year.

* * *

The days whistled by, much like the previous years, except with the addition of my Prefect's duties. The monotony shattered explosively during the Halloween feast when Professor Quirrel tumbled in, screaming about a troll in the dungeons.

The Headmaster, in his infinite wisdom, ordered the Prefects to escort the rest of the students to their dormitories, while the staff would hunt down the troll. I spared a moment for incredulous disbelief before rushing over to the clumped Slytherin Prefects.

"I hope you lot aren't planning on actually going back to the common room," I remarked.

One of the sixth-year Prefects glared down his nose at me. "We aren't daft, Potter."

"Of course not," I retorted. "But there's clearly some sort of contagious insanity going around," nodding my head toward the staff table.

The rest of the Prefects murmured agreement and started discussing how to safely navigate the school, but I was no longer paying attention. Snape had gone missing, though he should have been with the rest of the teachers. I doubted he had gone after the troll by himself. While I thought he was capable of taking on the troll without help, it didn't seem like a risk he would take. Quirrel seemed to have gone missing as well, though I thought the likelihood of him seeking out the troll even lower.

The rest of the staff was still milling around the Great Hall, and I decided that something needed to be done. There were always people who didn't go the feast, in Slytherin more than any other house, and while the Common Room was safe, those wandering around the school would not be.

I slipped out of the Great Hall and padded toward the dungeons, casting various protective spells meant to hide my presence. Disillusioned, silenced, and de-scented, I fell into a more relaxed run. While trolls mainly hunted by sound, I didn't want to run the risk of anything slipping through.

Plans for taking down the troll flitted through my head, some discarded as soon as I thought of them. Troll hide was resistant to magic, nearly as much as class-5 magical creatures such as Giants, Dragons, and Nundus. While the fact that I could perform conjuration as a fifth-year was impressive, I doubted I could come up with anything large enough to harm the troll. I also had to take into account the possibility of other students getting in the way, so slinging powerful curses and hoping to land a lucky hit was out.

A few good ideas and the semblance of a plan had formed in my head by the time I stumbled across the reek indicative of trolls. I turned the corner to find a trail of destruction leading down the corridor, ending in a bathroom.

A bathroom from which I could hear terrified screams.

I raced down the corridor, heart pumping, and cast Fragmentation curses on the suits of armor on either side of the bathroom door, causing shards of metal to rain down. I knew I had to get the troll out of the bathroom for my plan to work, and realized that fire spells were my best bet. They would only serve as a minor irritation to the troll, but I hoped it would be enough to draw its attention away from whoever was trapped in the bathroom with it.

I rushed into the bathroom to see the troll systematically wrecking each stall with a giant club. Shooting off an overpowered _Flagrate_, causing the skin on its shoulder to blister, I jumped out of the way as it swung around and nearly splattered me over the wall with its club. I sent another blast of fire its way, cancelling my silencing charm, and I saw it zero in on my location as I backed out the door.

As I was successful in gaining its attention, I transfigured the water on the floor into oil and the metal shards littering the hallway into thick metal ropes. Complex animation was beyond my means, but my idea would do just as well, as long as the troll took my bait and stepped out into the hallway.

Pressing myself against the wall of the corridor, I let out a loud scream, and the troll lumbered out of the bathroom. Perfect.

I cast a Tangling hex on the metal ropes, causing them to lash out and wind around each other, along with the troll's legs. Combined with the slick, oiled floor, the troll lost its footing and fell, a resounding crash echoing in my ears as the testament to my success.

I let out a deep breath, flushed on the adrenaline high, and sent a Stinging hex at the troll's midsection. It did not stir at all, so I cancelled my Disillusionment and scentless charms and ran into the bathroom. A young, bushy-haired girl with tear tracks down her face stared up at me in amazement from the door, but before I could say anything I heard footsteps rushing down the hall.

Headmaster Dumbledore, followed by Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrel, stopped and stared in various degrees of shock at the two of us and the unconscious troll.

After a few quick questions, the girl – a first-year named Hermione Granger – was ushered off to the hospital wing for a Calming Draught and a checkup by McGonagall. Quirrel seemed rather terrified of the troll, and he slipped off to parts unknown.

Assured of my relative well-being, Dumbledore and Snape led a more thorough interrogation of my actions right there in the hallway. I laid out the full story, and began expounding on my duties as a Prefect to keep the students safe, when the Headmaster waved off my defense.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear boy. You _did_ save Miss Granger from a rather terrible fate, after all – I hardly think punishment is in order. Not many adults could have taken on a mountain troll on their own, let alone a fifth-year student. But my, how ingenious…" Dumbledore muttered, his eyes sweeping the scene. He turned his piercing gaze on me. "A Tangling hex on the ropes?"

I nodded, and I could swear I saw a smirk flit across Snape's face, but the Headmaster continued. "I think… twenty points to Slytherin are in order. Don't you agree, Professor Snape?"

Snape gave a short nod to Dumbledore, who walked off toward the troll, wand in hand.

My Head of House beckoned me closer, and I drew forward. His hand clamped down hard on my shoulder, and he leaned in toward me, hot breath wafting over my ear. "This was a very foolish thing you did, Potter," he said in a furious whisper. "Going after a troll without so much as a note? I'd expect that from a _Gryffindor_," he spat out. "Though, admittedly, you were successful in your endeavour. Do not go off on any more suicide missions in the future – I would be disappointed to have to clean your remains off the wall." He marched off, cloak billowing in his wake.

I stood there, bemused, and charmed my robes and trainers clean with an absent flick of my wand.

* * *

Quidditch season was approaching, and with it a furious practicing schedule courtesy of this year's captain, Marcus Flint. The only good thing I could say about him was that he was rather violent in his protection of the players on our team – off the pitch, of course.

As the first game – Slytherin vs. Gryffindor – approached, I ruminated on our chances. Fred and George Weasely were good, I thought, and outclassed our beaters. They had caused me no end of trouble last year, and they were likely even better now. Wood, their keeper and team captain, was also better than our keeper and as harsh a taskmaster as Flint during practice. Their chaser team of Bell, Spinnet, and Johnson was talented, but one was coming in from being a reserve last year. Our brutal tactics would shake her up, I hoped. I was hardly worried about their seeker – some no-name fourth-year they picked up this year; he wasn't nearly as good as I was. Playing against Charlie Weasely had been a challenge, but now apart from Fred and George I would have free run of the pitch.

Game day dawned bright and clear, and soon both teams were on the pitch.

"I want a nice, clean game, both of you," Madame Hooch said, ignoring the crushing handshake taking place between team captains. I smirked at Wood as he gave a slight wince.

And then we were off. The cold, biting air slid through my hair as I streaked upward on my Nimbus 2000, a gift from Sirius, and the sound of the crowd and commentator rolled across the pitch.

I set to work, circling the pitch and dodging the occasional bludger. I was in good form today, the flying smooth and easy. My predictions on their new chaser were correct, I thought, diving in to disrupt their formation. She had fumbled the ball already and Slytherin was leading 30-20 only ten minutes into the game.

As I was making another casual circle around the pitch, my broom gave a sudden lurch. What the hell? Another lurch. Holding on with one hand, I reached for my wand with my other hand as the broom continued to buck. I tapped the broom, attempting to engage the failsafe descent, but it continued to move out of my control. I started a frantic series of diagnostic spells, each coming up empty. As far as I could tell, there was nothing wrong with my broom – no malfunctioning charms, no foreign enchantments. The only thing that could be affecting it was external magic, and just like that the solution was obvious. I swept my wand in a loose circle around the broom, casting _Finite_ spells as fast as I could. A second after my broom stopped trying to shake me off, I noticed the Snitch near the Gryffindor goalposts. I shot off like a rocket toward it, resulting in an anti-climactic catch with the other seeker trailing far behind.

I suppose I was lucky that there was some excitement elsewhere on the field during my brief cursebreaking adventure, as spellcasting was forbidden during Quidditch matches.

I was walking back to the castle when a tiny bundle of robes slammed into me from behind.

"Harry! You're alright!" Hermione shrieked, letting go of me in the process.

I looked down at her in bemusement. We had taken to sitting together in the library on occasion, forming a symbiotic pair. She would pester me with more advanced questions than her curriculum provided for and I would occasionally learn a new tidbit or recall something interesting that I had forgotten.

"Yes, I'm alright. What were we talking about?" I gave her a cheeky grin.

"Oh!" She drew back with a light blush. "Your broom was out of control until you swept your wand around it, and I think it was Professor Snape who cursed it! He was using a line-of-sight jinx!" rushed out in a single breath.

I stared at her. Professor Snape, who had spent the last five years treating me in as civil a manner as could be expected from him, had a sudden change of heart and decided to attempt to murder me during a Quidditch match, using such a traceable method? Right, I thought, as soon as he turned into a house-elf. More likely he was performing the counterspell. I would ask him about it as soon as I got out of the shower… after leaving a note in the dormitory, of course.

"Thanks," I said, giving her an absent nod. "I'll take care of this. Don't get yourself into any trouble."

Down in my dormitory, having taken a shower and changed, I set to writing the note I would leave on one of my roommate's drawers.

_Off to Professor Snape's rooms. If not back by-_

I cast a quick _Tempus_ spell. _7:56_.

_- If not back by 9:00 pm contact Dumbledore __immediately__._

I set a timed invisibility spell on it, setting it to appear in an hour, along with a loud bang.

Having thus created my own insurance policy, I left the Slytherin Dungeons in search of my Head of House.

I found Professor Snape marking some papers in his office. He invited me to enter with a grunt, and I sat myself in front of his desk. Waiting a moment before I spoke, I chose my words with deliberation.

"Somebody came to me after the Quidditch game with an interesting story. They claimed that you were using a line-of-sight spell to curse my broom. I find this unlikely, and was hoping you had a more reasonable explanation," I said in a steady voice, keeping my eyes on Snape's nose and my mind on the delicious treacle tart I ate during dinner.

Snape scrutinized me for a moment, before turning to look at the door of his office. He stood up and started casting silent spells at the door. I shifted in my seat and palmed my wand from inside my robes.

Snape sat back down and turned to face me. "Listen carefully, Potter," he said in a slow, controlled tone. "Whoever told you that was partially correct. Somebody _was_ using a line-of-sight curse, and I was using a counterspell which required the same. It is evident that you know of Legilimency, and equally clear that you do not know Occlumency. You will meet with me every Friday at this time to learn. In the meantime, avoid eye contact with anybody you do not explicitly trust." He dismissed with me a wave of his hand, and I left his classroom more suspicious than ever.

* * *

It turned out over the next few months that I was pants at Occlumency. By the time Christmas break rolled around, I could keep Snape out of my mind for a few seconds at most, and it took a serious effort to throw him out once he got in. By Easter, I could keep him out for ten seconds and managed to sporadically redirect him to harmless memories, though not in any consistent fashion and never for very long.

Professor Snape was irritated with the slow rate of progress, but grudgingly accepted that one could not be good at everything and kept his vocal displeasure to a minimum as long as there _was_ progress.

By the end of May, Snape felt confident enough in my abilities to hold off a mental intruder to tell me who cursed my broom.

"It was Quirrel. After his first attempt was foiled by my counterspell and your illusion, he must have decided it was too risky to try again. Though why he tried in the first place is a mystery, given what he is after," Snape said.

"What is he after?" I questioned.

Snape gave me an irritated glare. "Surely you know that something is hidden in the school?"

Hidden in the school? "What?"

Lips thinned, Snape explained. "You read the _Daily Prophet_, correct? Surely you remember the failed Gringotts robbery just before the first term started? And surely you remember Dumbledore's warning at the beginning of the year?"

The pieces clicked, and I gave him a slow nod. "Funnily enough, when Dumbledore warned of a painful death, I took him at face value. I find it tends to be better for my sanity," I drawled. Still, the situation was clear. Quirrel had attempted to rob Gringotts and failed, and Dumbledore had placed whatever Quirrel was after in the forbidden third-floor corridor. "So what is it that the Headmaster is hiding on the third floor?"

"It is… unimportant," Snape said. "Either way, it does not explain why he tried to kill you. Be on your guard around him, and if you happen to see him loitering around the third-floor corridor, inform myself or the Headmaster as soon as you can."

I nodded, and Snape continued. "I believe it is time for our Occlumency lessons to come to an end. You have a sufficient grasp of the subject to protect your mind against him for enough time to distract him with a spell, and your OWLs are quickly approaching. I suggest you study hard."

And with that, I was dismissed.

* * *

The OWLs had come and gone, and I felt confident in at least seven Os: Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Astronomy, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. I thought I had done well in History and Herbology, but wasn't sure I had avoided enough mistakes in either written section to guarantee an O instead of an E.

It was on a warm, balmy day between OWLs and our departure from Hogwarts that Snape found me outside, his expression even darker than usual.

"Potter," he greeted me, his voice nearly a whisper. "Quirrel has sent Dumbledore off to the Ministry on a fool's errand and is going to make his move tonight. Meet me in the third-floor corridor just after curfew – I believe you have an Invisibility Cloak suited to the task."

He swept away without giving me a change to reply, leaving me in bewildered confusion. Why the hell did Snape want me along? I'll admit to a curiosity as to what was hidden there, as well as a tempered rage at Quirrel for trying to kill me, but what possible motive could Snape have for bringing me? Surely a staff member – Flitwick or McGonagall – would be more capable backup?

It turned out Snape was thinking along similar lines, I found out when I grabbed my Cloak and Map from the dormitory. Snape's and Flitwick's dots were standing still near the entrance to the third-floor corridor, while Quirrel's dot paced in his office.

I pulled the Cloak on and strode out of the dungeons, my eyes on the Map the whole way there.

As I neared Snape and Flitwick, I saw them engaged in a whispered conversation. Only a few meters away now, I slipped off my Cloak and pocketed it. Snape noticed me first, eyebrows drawing back in surprise.

"No perimeter charms? Sloppy," I commented.

An irritated scowl graced Snape's face. "There _are_ perimeter charms. How did you cross them? I need to make sure Quirrel doesn't slip by us."

I gave him a slight frown. "I didn't do anything to avoid them. But I doubt Quirrel could slip by us anyways – I have a very handy map to keep an eye on him," I said, handing him the Map.

A blank look of surprise crossed Snape's face as he examined it, followed by a grim smile. "This will make out jobs easier," he drawled.

"Severus, are you sure this is wise? Harry is not yet of the age of majority, and-" Flitwick was cut off by a dismissive hand wave.

"Mr. Potter is a more capable defense student than any seventh-year at Hogwarts today. Now I suggest we apply Disillusionment and masking charms. Potter, a Silencing charm should be sufficient along with your cloak," Snape said.

I nodded and pulled my Cloak back on, cast a Silencing charm on myself, and watched Snape and Flitwick cast spell upon spell on themselves before finally disappearing.

We waiting in silence for some time before Quirrel strode down the hallway and entered the third-floor corridor, closing the door behind him.

I waited for Snape's directions, which came a few moments later as he reappeared, followed by Flitwick.

"Filius – you know what to do. Potter, follow our lead. If anything… _unfortunate_ happens, there are brooms down there – take one and alert Minerva, then wait for Dumbledore to come back." With that, he billowed off towards the door, Flitwick and I following in his wake.

A tap of his wand opened the door, beyond which lay slumbering a giant, three-headed dog and a harp playing itself.

"Stunners on three," Snape whispered. "Verbally, and focus as much as possible – I do not want that _thing_ to wake up at an inconvenient time."

"One, two, three, _Stupefy_!" three voices cried out in unison. Three bright red beams shot out of our wands and hit the dog, which seemed to slump even further into its sleep.

Snape strode forward and heaved open a trapdoor in front of the dog, which I had not noticed in my amazement at recognizing an actual Cerberus.

"I will go first, and when I yell 'jump', you will follow," he ordered, and jumped down without waiting for an answer.

Professor Flitwick and I shared an amused glance, and in the silence I heard only a muffled 'thump'. Some rustling sounds and a few seconds later, I heard him yell "Jump!" from what sounded like a great distance. Eyeing the trapdoor, I nodded to Flitwick and took a leap of faith, landing on something soft.

I attempted to stand up and immediately fell flat on my face, only to realize that I had landed on solid ground with a Cushioning spell. Scrambling out of the way for Flitwick, I shot a glare at Snape, who seemed to be smirking in the dim light.

Flitwick made his landing and stood up with much more grace than I had, recognizing the cushioned ground for what it was.

The three of us shared a look and went onward to the next room, only to find a room full of flying keys with several brooms nestled against the wall.

I surmised that only the proper key would open the door, and went to grab a broom, only to have both Snape and Flitwick follow me and grab brooms as well. I eyed them with a questioning glance.

"What I can do, I can also undo, Mr. Potter. We will need the brooms for the next room," Flitwick explained.

I nodded and we walked toward the locked door. Flitwick tapped the doorknob with his wand and murmured something, and the door swung outward.

The next room turned out to be home to a giant chess set. It seemed we were meant to play across, but I wasn't opposed to flying over it instead. The three of us did so with varying degrees of grace and landed on the other side, where Snape stopped us.

"The next room is Quirrel's – it is supposed to contain a troll, but I do not know what Quirrel has done with it, if anything. Be prepared," he warned.

I drew my wand, feeling confident. While the same trick would not work again a second time, given the lack of material, the three of us could take it down with massed spellfire. Concussion curses to the head would be the best bet, I thought.

Snape opened the door and slinked in on silent feet, with Flitwick and I following behind him. The overpowering smell of troll distracted me for only a second before I saw it lying unconscious on the ground.

I let out a sigh of relief, only to follow it up with a coughing fit caused by the rank stench. Clearing my throat, I followed Snape and Flitwick through the door into the next room, only to have a purple fire roar into existence behind me.

A black fire blocked the door in front of us, and to the side there was a table with a piece of parchment and seven bottles. A defense Snape designed, I guessed.

The Potions professor inspected two of the bottles, and then appeared to perform a switching spell with another bottle. With a sweep of his wand, the black flames blocking our passage dissolved.

One hand on the door and the other on his wand, Snape motioned us forward. "Be prepared for anything – including Unforgivables. Beyond stealing the stone, I have no idea what Quirrel's motivations may be."

He threw open the door and the three of us rushed in, wands blazing.

I led off with a standard stunner, while Snape shot off an advanced binding hex and Flitwick attempted a sensory-deprivation curse.

Quirrel had noticed our entrance, as he had already turned around and brought up a shield, though he staggered under the assault. Still, I'm not sure _I_ could have blocked three spells like that even with advance warning, let alone when caught by surprise.

"Quirrel," Snape growled, "come in quietly and make this easy for yourself."

Quirrel was already moving, however, and had thrown a dark purple curse towards our group. I dodged to the side while launching a Banisher at him, only to recognize a moment later what Quirrel had used. It was a powerful Dark Arts Paralysis curse, which did not harm the victim by itself but was difficult and time-consuming to reverse.

So, he was playing for keeps. I launched a quick succession of Fragmentation hexes at the ground near his feet, only to have him deflect the shrapnel back at me.

Blocking it, I snarled in frustration. Chancing a quick glance over at Snape and Flitwick, I saw that they were having no better luck than I was, and they were using much more advanced spellwork as well. Quirrel seemed to be using deadly or crippling curses against them. So, he didn't consider me a threat. Well, I'd show him.

Pelting him with low-level jinxes and hexes to keep him busy, and to keep Snape and Flitwick in good shape as well, I searched my memory for something that might catch him off guard. A grim smile came to my face as I remembered a spell that I had stumbled upon in my research earlier this year. _Cruor Laqueus_ – The Blood Noose – was by any meaning of the phrase Dark Arts, and blood magic to boot. It quite literally made a noose out of the caster's blood and placed it around the victim's neck. Difficult to block because the blood approached the enemy as a fine mist, it was also impossible to get off once it formed itself on the target without one seriously injuring themselves. It had no specific counter-curse as the blood was infused with the user's magic, which was also the reason it was so easy to cast and manipulate.

Casting a weak Notice-Me-Not charm on myself, I circled around to the side, slowing my breathing. Snape and Flitwick looked like they were tiring, but I hoped I could catch Quirrel by surprise. Anything stronger and Quirrel would be almost certain to notice me – powerful and talented wizards were almost never caught by common diversion tactics like Disillusionment, and it was clear that Quirrel fell into that category.

Having found a good position, I whispered the incantation and felt a slight lurch go through my body. I watched as a fine red mist shot out of my wand, speeding towards Quirrel. He noticed something wrong at the last second, but it was too late and I watched in triumph as a bright red noose formed around his neck. The curse was not deadly unless I wished it to be, and I very much looked forward to hearing the explanation for all of this.

I had only a moment to spare for shocked incredulity as I watched Quirrel shriek and his neck erupt in flames, when a wave of burning pain crashed into me and I slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Madam Pomfrey! He's waking up!" a voice cried out.

I grumbled my annoyance, pushing my face back into the pillow. My entire body felt feverish and sweaty, and I felt as if I would much rather go back to sleep than deal with the waking world. Alas, it was not to be.

"Up, up, young man! If you are awake, that means that the potions have finished their work. We have some questions for you," the matron's voice insisted.

I grunted and leveraged myself up by my elbow. Looking blearily around, I mumbled my thanks when someone's hand placed my glasses onto my face.

I found myself looking up at Madam Pomfrey's stern glare and decided that I would much rather deal with Sirius, whose face carried an unusual expression of worry, than suffer an inquisition from the resident Healer.

"How are you feeling, young man?" she inquired, leaving me no room for escape.

"Bit feverish," I replied through a jaw-cracking yawn. "And tired. Guess something went wrong with the spell – wait, Professor Snape and Flitwick! And Quirrel! What happened to them?" I shot up, now fully awake.

"Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick are fine, Harry. The same cannot be said for poor Quirinus, who has departed us," answered a new voice. I found myself staring into Dumbledore's somber eyes. "And I day say your last spell was successful – though it suffered from an unusual side-effect that you could not have known about. I must admit to a certain curiosity, Harry, why you chose to use such a Dark spell."

I narrowed my eyes. Surely I wasn't being punished for defending my life, along with those of two other Professors? Even if I had used Dark Arts to do it. "I didn't mean to kill him. Is that 'side-effect' the reason for why he burned and whatever happened to me as well? What is it, exactly?" I asked, both in genuine curiosity and in an attempt to redirect the conversation.

The Headmaster sat down, looking tired. Sirius seemed quiet, and he was looking at me with an expression I'd never seen on him before. I didn't know what to make of it, until Dumbledore spoke.

"It seems, Harry, that Quirinus Quirrel was carrying a passenger. A shade of Voldemort, in fact. I have long suspected that your survival that Halloween night was due to your mother's ritualistic sacrifice of her life, bestowing you with a temporary immunity against Voldemort's magic. Some measure of that protection has survived to this day – it was, in fact, the basis of a very special set of blood wards I placed around your Aunt's house. The magic in your blood reacted violently when it came into contact with Voldemort's host, and since you were still connected to it by your spell, the backlash knocked you unconscious. Severus and Filius reported a certain amount of shock at seeing both the results of your spell and the escaping shade that emerged from Quirinius' turban. It confirmed my long-standing belief that Voldemort was not truly dead."

I stared at Dumbledore in shock. Voldemort was _alive_? And I had killed Quirrel because of some remnant of a blood magic protection that my mother had given me upon her death? It made my use of a blood magic spell rather ironic – and more fortunate than ever, since it had exposed the fact that Voldemort was not quite as dead as I would have liked.

I lay back against my pillow, numb. I needed to think, and Sirius and Dumbledore could wait.

"Come see me in my office when you are feeling better, Harry," Dumbledore told me, and then he left.

"I'll – I'll see you when you get home, kiddo," Sirius said in a gruff voice, and followed Dumbledore out of the hospital wing.

I didn't want to think about this right now. I would think about it tomorrow, and talk to Dumbledore. Right now, I just wanted to stop thinking. So I slept.

* * *

The next day, after I was kicked out of the hospital wing, I made my slow way to Dumbledore's office. I had woken up late and between eating breakfast and concentrating on not walking into walls, I had very little time to think about what Dumbledore had revealed to me yesterday. Not that I particularly wanted to, but it didn't seem like I would have much choice in the matter.

Standing in front of the gargoyles guarding Dumbledore's office, I realized with a mild shock that I had made my way to his office completely unaware of my surroundings. And now that I was there, I further realized that the Headmaster had neglected to give me the password to his office.

Shaking my head and breaking out of my stupor, I tapped the head of the left gargoyle with my wand. Beyond the ability of regular students to request a meeting with the headmaster through them, they were enchanted to allow Prefects to deliver urgent messages to the Headmaster without waiting for a response.

Riding up the stairs, I tried to get my mind in order. Running through the Occlumency exercises Snape had me practice calmed me only a little, but it was better than nothing.

Opening the door to his office, I stepped inside and stopped, staring at Dumbledore with a blank look. Had I just interrupted him in the process of… _twiddling his thumbs_?

"Ah, Harry!" he exclaimed, giving me a beaming smile. "Please, come in and have a seat!"

"Yes, sir," I replied as I sat down in the chair he had conjured in front of his desk.

"Lemon drop?" he offered.

I gave him an absent nod and took one. I suspected they were laced with a Calming Draught, but I didn't mind much. Could even help me get through this meeting, I mused.

As if life had just decided to take a giant dump on me, the magic in the room _shifted_ like that night two years ago when I brought in Wormtail and the twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes vanished. Perhaps I would need another lemon drop.

"I am afraid, Harry, that there is something I need to tell you," Dumbledore said, and sighed.

"Your parents – and you – were not the target of a random attack by Voldemort. She came to your house that night intending to kill you for the threat she believed you posed; a threat born by prophecy."

And then he spelled it out for me – every last word.

My heart rising in my throat, I choked out, "The power she knows not – is that the protection my mother gave me?"

Dumbledore's aged face bore a slight frown as he gave a neutral hum. "Perhaps, perhaps, though I am uncertain. It would be… _unwise_ to rely on it to protect you from anything other than physical contact, and even more so to try and make direct use of it through blood-based spells. If Voldemort managed to obtain some of your blood, she could use it for many a nefarious purpose, including using it as a tool for a potent resurrection ritual. Though, of course, that would be an exceptionally foolish way for her to go about it…" he murmured the last part.

I stared at him, confused and dismayed. The power I was supposed to have that Voldemort did not know of – it might have been my mother's protection, but Dumbledore wasn't sure. And if it wasn't, he didn't seem to have any alternatives in mind, either. Not only that, but it sounded as if Dumbledore thought that using my blood as a method of resurrection would somehow disadvantage Voldemort. I wasn't sure what he meant, but I was not about to donate my blood for experimentation.

Screw it all, my brain hurt. I'd think it over by myself then get some suggestions from Sirius, and perhaps Remus as well, who could provide a more level-headed commentary.

My throat felt inexplicably sore and I felt the signs of an impending headache. "Thank you, Headmaster. If that's all..?"

Dumbledore nodded, his keen gaze tracking me as I turned and left his office.


	2. Lightning Strike

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related properties, only the original ideas I came up with.  
**

**A/N: Sorry this a bit late, but real life clubbed me over the head in the last week. Chapter 3 is complete and undergoing editing; hopefully I'll be done by the weekend. Heh. There's a Dresden Files reference in this chapter - same offer as before, a free one-shot to anybody who picks it up and reviews. Speaking of which, nobody found the NotW reference from last chapter**,** so that's still open too.**

**I do appreciate constructive criticism, but regardless, read and enjoy!**

* * *

The next day I left Hogwarts and Sirius picked me up from King's Cross station. After some discussion with him and Remus, we agreed that while I was ahead of the curve when it came to magical combat, I still had a long way to go before I could even think of taking on Riddle.

I had yet to best Sirius in a duel, who admitted for all his dislike of the man, Snape was a good dueler as well, whose skills had not been blunted by Azkaban. And yet Snape and Flitwick combined had not been able to take down a Voldemort-possessed Quirrel; though had they switched to using lethal means perhaps they would have worn him down faster.

Thus, most of my summer was dedicated to training. While becoming a faster, more talented dueler was important, I realized that my best hope was to try and catch Voldemort off guard, because she had decades of experience on me.

By the end of the summer, I was besting Sirius once every third duel and Remus every other time. The largest impediment at this point was that I did not know how Voldemort fought. The only person who could provide me with this information was Dumbledore, who had fought her several times in the last war and come out on top each time, thus I planned to ask him for training as soon as I got back.

When summer ended, I returned to Hogwarts with little of my usual excitement and anticipation. Things would be different now; I was going there to train instead of learn.

Upon arriving at the castle, I arranged a meeting with the Headmaster and agreed to meet him once a week for my training to combat Voldemort.

* * *

It turned out that Gilderoy Lockhart was an even worse teacher than Quirrel, if that was possible. Not only did he not know anything about Defense Against the Dark Arts, he wouldn't even leave me alone during class to study.

By the second week of term, I was fed up with his idiotic role-playing. When he called me up to perform the role of a vampire, I palmed my wand and performed a few subtle glamours. By the time I reached the front of the class, my skin was waxy and pale, my eyes gleamed red, and if one looked hard they could see the tips of fangs peeking out of my lips.

Still grasping my wand, unseen by anybody else, I performed a weak Featherweight charm on myself. After Lockhart was done spouting nonsense at the class, he looked at me. I bared my "fangs" at him, and he took a noticeable step back, eyes widening. At this, my grin turned into a full-fledged smile and I leaped at him, crossing the distance in a single jump.

Lockhart tripped over his own feet trying to scramble away from me and ended up on the ground. Canceling the Featherweight charm, I mock-pinned Lockhart to the ground and exclaimed, "Blood!"

His eyes rolled back and he slumped into a dead faint. Well. That was somewhat unexpected, I thought, but not at all unwelcome. I hoped he would learn to leave me alone now, though I had serious doubts about his intelligence.

After the relatively exciting DADA lesson was one of my free periods – being a sixth year, there were many more of these sprinkled about our schedule than during fifth year. It gave me more time for training, though I had a different goal in mind for today.

Stepping into Professor Snape's office, I gave the professor a quick once-over. He appeared normal, though I knew he had been almost as affected as I was by the knowledge of Voldemort's living state.

"Yes, Potter?" he asked, not looking up from the paper he was grading.

"Lockhart's an idiot," I replied. "I don't know what Headmaster Dumbledore was thinking."

Snape put down his quill and turned to face me. "What exactly do you need?"

I shifted and stopped myself from running my hand through my hair. I had no idea how he would take this request, and it wouldn't do to show my nervousness. "The Headmaster's… training mostly involves learning about Voldemort's history. While no doubt useful in some ways, it won't help me much if I have to cross wands with her again. I'd like to practice dueling with you."

He stared at me, expression fathomless. I stared back, unyielding.

Finally, he spoke. "Yes. I will find the time, and you will learn. If you have any objections to learning Dark Arts… well, I suggest you get rid of them."

I raised an eyebrow. Surely he didn't think I had any moral qualms about using magic that most people frowned upon?

He smirked, clearly understanding my reaction. "Once a week, I think. I will inform you of the time later."

I nodded, thanked him, and left his office.

* * *

And so my year proceeded apace. I leaned more of Voldemort's origins and history from the Headmaster, I learned dueling and the Dark Arts from Snape, and I learned (unwillingly) how to do my hair from Lockhart.

The lessons from Dumbledore turned out to be more useful than I thought they would. I realized that being able to taunt Voldemort might actually be a valuable tactic during our inevitable confrontation.

"She was always unstable, prone to fantastic rages that burnt themselves out as quickly as they came. I doubt that twelve years as a spirit has done anything to improve her sanity," Snape had told me.

Being able to cause her to slip up during a duel would be helpful… assuming I wasn't a smudge on the ground by the time I said it.

I settled into a routine, and though my time at Hogwarts was not boring, it quickly became predictable. I hoped that I could avoid the bizarre and fantastic adventures that had plagued my fifth year. While Lockhart didn't seem the type to slave out his body to a Dark Lady, neither did Quirrel. Perhaps his hair was actually a wig? Then I remembered with a vague sense of relief that I had come into contact with his skin during the Vampire prank.

Nonetheless, as Halloween crept ever closer, a feeling of foreboding lodged itself deep inside me.

* * *

Sometimes I think that somebody out there has it out for me, and then I remember the prophecy and realize that's not just a suspicion.

In this case, Halloween had reared its ugly head again. A first-year Gryffindor, one Ginny Weasely, had gone missing. Found splattered across the floor of a corridor on the second floor was rooster's blood, and being a prefect I had of course been drafted for the search.

At this point I was resolved to fighting a manticore, or something equally terrible.

The rest of the prefects and staff had dispersed across the rest of the castle in the search, having found nothing helpful in the corridor.

I sighed and shook my head in irritation. They had managed to forget entirely about Moaning Myrtle, who haunted the bathroom at the end of the corridor. It was unlikely that she had seen anything, but to forgo questioning her entirely was just lazy.

I peered around the bathroom and cautiously made my way forward. The place was grimy, though a few patches of floor stood out as suspiciously clean. Myrtle was nowhere to be found, though perhaps she was hiding in one of the stalls.

Walking down the row, I checked each stall before moving on to the next. I found her hiding in the last one, head tucked between her knees.

I stared at her, momentarily lost for words. What exactly was she scared of? She was a ghost, after all.

"Myrtle, are you alright?" I asked in a gentle whisper.

She gave a violent jerk but relaxed when she saw me. "Is she gone?" she whispered back at me.

"Is who gone?" I questioned. Could she mean Ginny Weasely?

"The _girl_," she replied with a shiver. "The last time a girl waltzed in here, hissing like a lunatic, I _died_."

The bottom of my stomach dropped out and I felt my mouth go dry. The last Parselmouth to go to Hogwarts had been Riddle herself, who went on to become Voldemort. While Dumbledore did not have concrete proof, he had always suspected her of opening the Chamber of Secrets and framing Hagrid for it – here was actual _proof_. But surely Ginny Weasely could not be a Parselmouth? She had even less reason to be one than I did.

I drew my tongue across my lips, thinking at a furious pace. "Myrtle, where is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?"

She gave me a sullen look, but pointed at the sinks. "She hissed at one of them and it opened up."

I nodded. "Myrtle, can you go alert the professors? Tell them – tell them that Harry Potter found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in this bathroom, and he suspects that Ginny Weasely is down there. Also, tell them that there's probably a basilisk down there."

Not everybody knew about the Chamber of Secrets, but I suppose I was lucky enough to have a first-hand source in Dumbledore. The identity of the "monster" within was unknown, but easy to guess. It was _Slytherin's_ Chamber of Secrets, for Merlin's sake! What else would it be but a deadly snake? The rooster blood we found provided the final clue, though a basilisk would have been my first guess anyways. Anything else would have been too small, and, dare I say it, not deadly enough to make an effective weapon.

I made my way over to the sinks, wand drawn. While I doubted that I would encounter any danger as soon as I entered, it was better to be prepared. Kneeling down, I examined each sink until I found a tiny snake engraved in a pipe.

I paused, considering. What would Slytherin have made his password? Surely nothing too complicated – it was in Parseltongue, and only his descendents could speak it. Supposedly.

Coming to a decision, I concentrated on the snake and said, "_Open_." I moved back as a grinding noise started and the sink started shifting, opening up into a giant hole.

Lighting my wand and looking around inside, I grimaced at the muck coating the slide going down. There had to be another way down – I doubted that either Slytherin or Riddle would lower themselves to going down something as mundane as a _slide_.

Inspecting each corner of the opening, I found another snake emblem engraved just inside the slide. Perhaps it would work again? "_Can I have some stairs?_"

As the last word (hiss?) left my mouth, the slide rippled and reformed as stairs. Much better, I thought.

Still, I wasn't about to walk in blind. I shot off an animal detection charm down the stairs. It acted much like radar, and was used both by breeders when their livelihood wandered off and by Dark creature hunters to avoid falling into traps. After it reported nothing alive larger than a few rats within the confines of the chamber, I walked down the stairs, careful not to slip on the slime and debris.

I exited into a small, square area littered with animal bones. There was only one way to go forward, and it was through another pipe, though this one went straight instead of down.

I cast a silencing charm on myself before continuing forward. Just because there wasn't a basilisk down here yet didn't mean that a human couldn't hear me approaching, and I had no idea what Weasley's intentions were.

I emerged into another, larger enclosure and passed a gigantic snakeskin. If I ever get out of here, I'm going to be even richer than I already am, I thought with a wry smile. I could only imagine the price such a length of basilisk hide would fetch, even as dried as it was.

Coming to the apparent end of the chamber, I encountered a stone door guarded by two snake statues on either side. It was eerily reminiscent of the door to the Headmaster's office, though I knew nothing benign rested behind this door.

Taking a deep breath, I began preparing myself. I layered a few charms on my glasses – I would not activate them yet, as I didn't want to go in blind, but I would need them if the basilisk was there. I also placed a Strengthening charm on my robes. While it wouldn't do much against the basilisk's fangs, it might save me a few broken ribs if the basilisk decided to swipe me with its tail. And judging by its size from the old snakeskin, that was something I would have to worry about.

I focused on the snakes on either side of the door, and with a resigned set of my shoulders, whispered, "_Open._"

Closing my eyes, I focused on listening. I couldn't hear anything beyond my heartbeat and breathing, heavy with anticipation.

Knowing I would get no better indication of safety, I opened my eyes and marched forward.

Spreading out before me in the flickering light was, dare I say it, the most majestic piece of architecture I had ever seen, after Hogwarts.

It reminded me of a cathedral I had once visited… if it had been devoted to a snake deity. Spaced regularly on either side of me were enormous columns reaching towards the ceiling, which was high enough that I couldn't make it out in the dim light. Elegant snake motifs were both embossed and engraved on the columns, and the mysterious lighting came from torches mounted on every third column.

At the end of the chamber was a monolithic stone carving of a man's head, which I assumed to be that of Salazar Slytherin.

And beneath it stood a girl wearing what appeared to be a standard Hogwarts uniform. As she was facing away from me, the only details I could make out were her hair – long, black, and wavy – and her height – average. At her feet lay a splash of red amidst a pool of black, which I realized with an aborted breath was Ginny Weasely.

Thanking my lucky stars for remembering to cast a silencing charm, I crept forward toward the unknown girl, avoiding the numerous puddles.

A few feet away now, I held her at wand-point and spoke up. "Who are you?"

She whirled around, reaching for a wand that didn't seem to be there, and for a moment I was struck dumb. There stood Tom Marvalo Riddle, age 16, Slytherin Prefect. She was a perfect likeness of the memories I had viewed with Dumbledore, except she seemed a bit fuzzy around the edges, like a person viewed through a fogged-up windowpane.

She regarded me with a critical eye for a moment, and then turned my question back on me. "Who are you?"

I didn't know what was going on, but as the only person with a wand, I knew I had the advantage. "What are you doing with Ginny Weasely?" I glanced down at the red-haired girl, and was about to look back up at Riddle, but my eye caught on a small black diary. _T. M. Riddle_, I mouthed. My gaze drifted back to Riddle, who was looking at me with what I was sure was feigned indifference. "So… possession, or something more exotic?"

When she didn't answer, I raised my wand. She dismissed it with a contemptuous sneer and turned back around. "I don't have time to deal with you."

Whatever she was planning, I wasn't about to let her get away with it. "_Stupefy!_"

Then I watched in stunned disbelief as the spell passed harmlessly through her and splashed on Slytherin's bust.

Without missing a beat, she spoke in the hissing tones that I recognized coming from somebody else as Parseltongue, "_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of Hogwarts four!_"

Well, that wasn't at all ominous.

The mouth of the statue started opening, and I as soon as I saw a flicker of movement from within I knew what was coming. Riddle was without a wand, and incorporeal in any case, so she had turned to her only weapon: Slytherin's basilisk. I turned to run, knowing I stood no chance in a head-on fight.

Weaving between the columns of rock, I tapped my glasses to activate two of the charms I had placed on it earlier. The first was to shut out the entire visible spectrum and the second to allow magic to filter through. I hoped that this would allow me to survive the basilisk's gaze, while still allowing me to see it – the snake was a highly magical creature, after all. The other charm I had put on it, a heat detection charm, wouldn't do me much good. I would see neither the basilisk nor Riddle with it, the first being a cold-blooded reptile and the second not having a body.

While Riddle was hissing instructions to her pet, I took a moment to sweep my wand horizontally across the chamber and spread a thin web of magic, tagging physical obstructions so that I could see them. This was a strategy I had only practiced once so far, when I was working on obscure and non-standard methods of combat. I had been testing the effectiveness of blinding enemies with powerful light spells.

Now that I could see where I was going, I turned my gaze back, hoping for the best. The basilisk was clear in my perceptions, and when I didn't drop dead I let out a sigh of relief. To my surprise, however, both Riddle and her diary blazed with magic. There was also a thick thread of purple magic connecting Riddle and the diary. I couldn't see it, but I would bet my left hand that the diary was connected to Ginny.

"_Accio diary,_" I whispered, forcing my will into the magic, but nothing flew towards me. Cursing under my breath, I had to give Riddle credit – she made her container well.

I started running again, trying to put as much distance between myself and the Basilisk as possible. Meanwhile, my mind was racing. Nothing I had learned in my six years at Hogwarts could have prepared me to fight a Basilisk, even considering my talent at Defense. The only spell I could think of that would take care of my problem was the killing curse, and I doubted I could summon the required hate and intent to kill before the beast struck me down. In between panting breaths I considered toppling the columns on top of it, but decided it was a futile course of action. I could hardly see well enough to avoid tripping on the ground, and would be as likely to kill myself as the Basilisk.

My heart pounded on adrenaline and terror. How in the name of Merlin had I gotten myself into this mess?

Still running at a furious pace, I continued to try and think of a plan. This was nothing like fighting a troll – it was a twenty meter long snake, I could hardly try and trip it up. And then, my own thoughts came back to me. It was a snake, a _cold-blooded_ reptile. I couldn't physically or magically impede it, but I could try to slow it down.

Glancing back, I saw the basilisk bearing down on me. I cast a wide-area freezing spell behind me, and another on the floor for good measure.

I continued turning and twisting through the columns, making sharp turns to take advantage of my lesser momentum. My breath was coming hard, and I knew I was running out of time. I scrounged my mind for the most ridiculous ideas, and briefly entertained the fantasy of using a rocket-launcher. Then it came to me, and I would have screamed in frustration except for my lack of oxygen.

I would conjure or transfigure a sharp, thin, _dense_ object and banish it in the direction of the basilisk's head – hopefully it would pierce its brain through its eyes.

As I was considering how to best implement this course of action in between increasingly ragged breaths, I noticed two things.

The first was a set of rapidly approaching footsteps, leading me to believe that my backup had arrived. The second was that I had gone almost full-circle around the chamber, and was nearing Riddle with each step I took.

In between pants, I managed to gasp out, "Well, looks like the show is over!"

I donned a feral grin in return to the snarl she gave me and stayed my course, now intent on running through her. It wasn't like she could stop me, after all. I wanted to snag the diary and move Ginny out of the way of the basilisk, which was still following me, though it had slowed down and become distracted by the company of wizards and witches who had finally entered the chamber.

Only a few meters away from Riddle now, I noticed her eyes glance at my forehead and go wide.

She took a step back and threw her hands up. "No!"

I had no time to process her reaction before I ran into her.

I felt a vague sense of _what-the-fuck_ before a familiar burning sensation filled me, followed in short order by a devastating _ripping_ that tore me away from consciousness.

* * *

I woke to the headache-inducing glare of the Hospital Wing and groaned when I remembered what led to it. I took a small measure of comfort from knowing that I had defeated a younger incarnation of Voldemort, even if it was a complete accident.

Taking my glasses from the bedside table, I looked around. Ginny's sleeping form was lying on the bed to the left of mine, and I let out a sigh of relief. If Madam Pomfrey wasn't standing guard over her all day, she'd be alright.

Then I turned to the right and choked back a scream when I saw the pale form of Tom Riddle of the diary lying on the bed next to mine.

Sitting next to her bedside, watching her with some older grief in his expression, was Albus Dumbledore. When he noticed I was awake, his face brightened.

"Ah, Harry! How are you feeling?" he asked.

Working out the kinks in my back, I responded, "Fine, better than the last time something like this happened. And, uh… what exactly did happen?" I shot Riddle a glare.

Dumbledore gave me a benign smile. "I think this is a conversation better held when all of its participants are awake. I have some questions for young Miss Riddle here, and I think they will segue very nicely into answers for both of us."

I nodded in acquiescence and lay back down, tired again. Riddle would answer our questions, and then we would get rid of her. No problem.

The next time I awoke it was to a hand shaking my shoulder. I batted it away in irritation; couldn't they see I was sleeping?

"Harry, it is time for you to wake up. We need to have that conversation as soon as possible." Apparently not.

I grumbled and lifted myself out of bed. Grabbing my robes and slipping behind a changing screen, I mumbled what could have been an apology to an amused-looking Headmaster.

After I was done, I followed him to his office, alternating between glaring at a silent Riddle and the Headmaster, for whom I held some undefined irritation.

I ran through my Occlumency exercises and the feelings disappeared. I seemed to be improving despite my lack of practice… perhaps it was something I had grown into.

We arrived at the Headmaster's office with not a word said between us. As we walked, I noticed that Riddle seemed to be moving in lockstep with me. Was she doing that deliberately to annoy me? But no, she seemed altogether unselfconscious, not so much as glancing at me.

When we sat down in Dumbledore's office, the three of us created a silent tableau. Riddle was clearly familiar with the Headmaster's games despite only having had him as a Transfiguration professor.

I smirked. Even if the Headmaster spoke first, he'd still come out on top. And so he did, even though I didn't understand his question.

"Was this your first Horcrux, Miss Riddle?"

She glared at him. "I want vows before I talk, _Headmaster_." She spat out the last word like a curse.

Dumbledore gave her a smile, though his eyes held little warmth. "Oh, you will have my vows, Miss Riddle, after you make your own. But before that, you will answer these questions. You know the value of my word, and I know the value of yours."

She snorted and turned her head away, seeming to concede the point. It was like watching a tennis match, though it was obvious that Dumbledore had the upper hand.

"Yes," she answered after a short pause.

"And how many did you plan to make?" the Headmaster pressed further.

Riddle drew her lips back in a silent snarl, but realized the futility of struggling. "Six, for seven pieces."

The headmaster nodded, and then changed tack. "Did you come by the idea of seven by yourself?"

She slumped into her chair, resigned to answering his questions. "Originally, yes. Seven is a powerful number in arithmancy, but moreover a number of stability. I ran it by Slughorn, though he wasn't much help," she sneered.

I scratched my chin, understanding this part better. While I still had no idea what a horcrux was, I was no slouch at arithmancy. Some set of magical objects she was creating would rely on the number seven for stability. The name of Slughorn drew a vague memory of somebody I thought Snape had mentioned once, though I couldn't remember who he was. Probably a former Hogwarts professor, I deduced.

The Headmaster hummed, apparently satisfied with her answers. "I think that is enough for now; the rest of my questions shall wait until after the vows. It is time for me to answer some of your questions, Harry. A horcrux is a torn piece of soul enshrined in an object, meant to guard one against death both natural and unnatural…"

* * *

I stumbled down the corridor, heading toward the dungeons. My mind was spinning, dizzy with information. Voldemort had committed murder to split her soul for immortality. Never before had anybody created more than one horcrux, so how did Dumbledore suspect it? My memory flashed back to the locket I had accidentally spoken in Parseltongue to in Sirius' house in the summer before my fifth year – the one we had sent to Dumbledore.

That made sense, I thought. If Voldemort were to place pieces of her soul in objects for protection, she would choose things that had some meaning to her. And if the "S" on the locket stood for Slytherin like Sirius and I had believed, then what better object than something made by her many-times-removed ancestor?

I arrived back in my common room and flopped onto a couch, still thinking. Dumbledore and Riddle were making Unbreakable Vows to each other, though what for I did not know. Riddle had requested privacy and Dumbledore had seen fit to grant her that, though I couldn't figure out how he could make the vows without a bonder.

Dumbledore said he would call for me later, as he had more to tell me. Meanwhile, however, I would prod at the details our earlier conversation, trying to learn more from Riddle's spare answers now that I understood the context. If Dumbledore planned on telling me anyways, well, at least I would have some practice.

Two or three hours passed before Professor Snape swept into the common room. "Potter, the Headmaster would like to see you now."

I nodded and followed him to Dumbledore's office. It seemed that his presence had been requested as well.

We rode the staircase up in silence, and as we entered the Headmaster's office I noticed Snape tense slightly beside me. If I had not been standing so close, I doubt I would have noticed it. But what could possibly – oh, of course. The sight of the many-years younger though no doubt familiar face of Voldemort would be recognizable.

Riddle seemed unsurprised to see us enter, I noticed. The Headmaster motioned for all of us to sit down, and we took our seats.

"Our first order of business, with all of us here, will be Miss Riddle's living arrangements at Hogwarts. You will be sleeping with the sixth-year Slytherin girls. I will place a modified aversion charm on you – anybody outside this room will not pay you any undue attention as long as you avoid calling attention to yourself," the Headmaster said.

Riddle gave him a short nod in return, her blank expression holding firm.

Dumbledore continued, this time looking at Snape. "Severus, you will make sure that Miss Riddle does not cause any significant mischief after-hours. The rest, I am afraid, is a private conversation between the three of us. You may go now, Severus."

Snape grunted in affirmation and swept from the office.

Dumbledore peered at Riddle, then at me. "Now, onto more serious matters. Harry, when did you find out you were a Parselmouth?"

Riddle sent a sharp glance at me, but I ignored her. It should have been obvious from the fact that I had entered the Chamber of Secrets.

"Ever since Sirius sent you that locket. I accidentally _spoke_ to it, and we decided we were in over our heads with it. I'm guessing that was another horcrux?" I asked, fishing for information.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, indeed, though I cannot say now if it was for good or for ill… no matter now. What is important is how you came by the ability of Parseltongue. I'm sure you are aware that it is a dominant hereditary trait? The Potter line certainly never had it, and your mother was a Muggleborn. I had thought, upon first learning of your talent several hours ago, that it was due to a connection to Voldemort forged by the killing curse, but ever since Miss Riddle detailed to me the events in the Chamber, a new explanation occurred to me."

I stared at him in confusion. Never before had I heard of any such connection, though admittedly I was the first survivor of the killing curse, so I supposed it was possible. Dumbledore continued with his explanation.

"It is my belief that on the night that Voldemort came to kill you, she had planned to make another horcrux to crown her achievement. Her killing curse backfired due to your mother's protection, and a piece of her soul was unwittingly buried in your scar."

Shock rushed through me and I interrupted him. "Wait – are you saying I accidently became a horcrux?"

Dumbledore raised his hand and I stopped. "Yes, Harry, that is what I believe, but what happened in the Chamber is just as important. It is my understanding that the Diary was meant to drain the life, magic, and _soul_ of an individual in order to resurrect Miss Riddle – "

At this, she shot him a glare. "I already told you, I don't know. I can't imagine why I would think it was a good idea to turn a horcrux into a weapon. It seems that I had gone insane, at some point," she said with a contemptuous frown on her face.

Dumbledore gave her a brittle smile. "Yes, quite. As I was saying, Miss Weasely was being drained of everything she was in order to bring you back, and I am certain that it should have proved fatal. The only reason I can think of why Miss Weasely survived is that when Harry came into contact with you, the piece of Voldemort's soul that unknowingly rested within him came loose and fulfilled the necessary requirements for you to assume a living form."

I cleared my throat. "So to sum up, you think I was a horcrux, but when I ran into _her_," I jerked a finger in Riddle's direction, "she, uh, took the piece of soul inside me instead of draining Ginny?"

"In shorthand, yes," Dumbledore allowed. "Now, Miss Riddle, your bed has been prepared and supplies will be sent for in the morning. I believe the current Slytherin password is _High brow_. You may go."

Riddle got up from her seat and left without another word. "How rude," I muttered, feeling far too entertained by her childish behavior.

Dumbledore gave me a small smile. "Now that we are alone, Harry, there is something I must ask of you. I would like you to keep an eye on Miss Riddle. She will be expecting Severus – he is an authority figure – but in her days at Hogwarts she never respected any other student enough for them to have a measure of power over her. I do believe that my vows are sufficient, but I have been known to make mistakes. We _cannot_ afford to make mistakes here; I have already made them once."

I nodded, having been planning to keep an eye on Riddle whether or not Dumbledore had asked it of me.

Dumbledore looked pleased with my agreement. Perhaps he had expected more resistance? "And if you have the opportunity to do so, Harry, test out your Parseltongue ability. I would be interested to see if you are still capable of it."

I gave a slight jerk in my seat. I hadn't even though of that, I realized. While not something I had valued greatly, as I had never been very interested in snakes, my Parseltongue ability was nonetheless something I was proud of. That I might have lost it in the theoretical exchange of Voldemort's soul was not something I had considered… but if I tested it and found I still had the ability, what did that mean for Dumbledore's theory?

Then a niggling worry that had been in the back of my mind surfaced. "Sir," I hestitated, but decided I deserved to know. "How can you be sure that Riddle won't run off or do something else? I mean, Professor Snape and I will be keeping an eye on her, but we can't do that all day, every day."

Dumbledore gave me a mysterious smile. "Ah, Harry, would that I could trust Miss Riddle at her word, but as it is, she is bound by fire and her magic. She was not very agreeable to the terms I set, but she found the relative freedom I granted preferable to a rather more uncomfortable imprisonment."

Ah. Clever of him, though I was not sure that Dumbledore would have actually forced Riddle's hand had she called his bluff.

"Run along to bed, Harry. I do so hope we can keep adventures like this to a minimum," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Yes, sir," I replied with a wry lilt.

I made my way down into the dungeons and entered the Slytherin common room. I wasn't surprised not to find Riddle there – I doubted very much she had returned in the first place. She was probably sneaking about the castle, trying to find out if anything had changed. That's what I would have done in her position, at any rate.

I entered my dormitory to find it empty. Turning in early would probably be a good idea, I thought. I would no doubt be nagged by anybody and everybody, and I wanted some time to mull over my thoughts.

Sleep was slow in coming. I lay in bed, thinking of everything and nothing, until I used Occlumency to clear my mind and unconsciousness claimed me.


	3. Rainfall

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Pretend that I had this disclaimer in Chapter 1, yeah?**

**A/N: I'm _still_ not done with Chapter 4 (boo!) because Real Life is too much fun. That said, it'll definitely be done by the end of the week. If I'm not lazy, by Wednesday (though it'll still have to go through editing). This chapter features a new scene that wasn't there before. Also, this chapter is shorter than the first two, but this is actually much closer to my usual chapter length. Future chapters will probably be 4-5k words in length, not 6k+.  
**

* * *

A week later and Riddle still hadn't done anything remotely suspicious. Of course, I thought, it was a lot easier to bide one's time than to watch somebody else doing it.

She was currently situated on the couch in the Slytherin common room, reading an advanced Transfiguration text, acting completely innocent. I snorted. She had to be up to something, and the sooner I could figure out what it was, the sooner I could try to convince Dumbledore to get rid of her. I wasn't sure what Dumbledore hoped to gain her, but after some thinking I decided that the risk was not commensurate with the reward, given that I wasn't being kept in the loop. Perhaps I could force the issue – not that I would reveal any knowledge I had of her, but I could unintentionally strike some sore spots.

I strode over and dropped onto the couch opposite of her. "So, Riddle, what are you planning?"

She glanced up and I felt a trickle of irritation flow through me. How could she maintain such a calm façade all day, every day?

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I raised my eyebrows. "Well, surely you plan to continue your work to wipe out the unworthy?"

Her expression shifted into a slight frown. If I hadn't been intent on shaking her up, I doubt I would have noticed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I gave her a mocking smile. "Don't play innocent with me. Your, ah, counterpart was rather intent on killing off muggles and muggleborn."

She returned my mocking smile, inch for inch. "Surely you were paying attention in Dumbledore's office? I thought I made it very clear that I could not account for my future self's actions – the fracturing of my soul seemed to have driven me insane, though I cannot say for certain."

"And your soul isn't fractured now?" I pressed, sensing an opening.

"No," she responded, her expression going blank.

I cursed inwardly. I should have known it wasn't going to be that easy, but I had been so close… Not giving up, I sought another avenue of attack. "Your dislike of muggles didn't appear from nowhere, did it?"

She regarded me with a wary eye. "How much has Dumbledore told you of my history?"

"Oh, some," I smirked. "You grew up in an orphanage, didn't you?"

"Yes," she spat out. "My experience with the muggles left much to be desired."

"Relying on anecdotal evidence, are we?" I teased in a sing-song voice. I could almost see the anger rolling off her. "I mean, I was orphaned too," shooting her a pointed glare.

She glared back at me.

"I know, I know… not your fault," I mocked her. "And yet, while my aunt and uncle may not have loved me as they did their own son, they didn't hate me, either."

By now she was fully focused on me. "I'm sure they just didn't want to provoke your wrath. The children at the orphanage learned quickly not to cross me."

"Observation bias," I mused. "No, I'm pretty sure they were just being good people. You're letting your limited experience influence your perceptions of everybody else. It's not only stupid but dangerous, and I didn't think you were much for stupid and dangerous."

She turned away, not looking at me. I knew I had won the argument, though the rush of satisfaction I had expected failed to materialize.

We sat in silence for a moment. "What do you want from me?" she whispered.

Suddenly, I was unsure what exactly I had hoped to achieve with this conversation. It wasn't _this_, this terrible silence, nor was it the pain I could sense flickering beneath her frozen mask of indifference.

I swept away without another word.

* * *

I panted and wiped the sweat from my brow, holding my wand aloft.

"Again," Snape demanded. "You are very near being able to break through it completely – I am sure you can accomplish this today."

I stared at the target, which had reformed once more. It was an enchanted dummy whose purpose was to train duelists to break through various shield charms. The dummy could be enchanted with a variety of shields, and to pierce it completely with a spell indicated that the same spell would go through the same shield cast by a wizard.

"Sectumsempra," I hissed, lashing out with my wand. The spell struck the dummy in the chest, cleaving through it. I groaned in disappointment. The spell had left perhaps a couple centimeters left in the back – the top half would have fallen over, otherwise.

"Once more!" Snape growled. "You are not focusing enough on the intent of the spell; your wand must be a blade wreaking destruction on your enemy! Use Occlumency if you cannot concentrate," he sneered, and repaired the dummy for another go.

Focusing on clearing my mind, I nodded. I had been rather distracted recently and it was showing. Sectumsempra – it was a spell I suspect that Snape had invented, as I thought I would have run across it in my perusal of the Dark Arts, given its power and versatility.

I had found, to my surprise, that the Dark Arts came as easily to me as normal combat magic, if not even faster. I harbored a slight suspicion that was not entirely due to my own talents, but I wasn't complaining. Sectumsempra, specifically, was a spell that I had learned to cast effectively more quickly than usual. Now I was focusing on increasing its power and precision.

My mind had cleared and I felt a cold stability return to me. Focusing on the invisible blade, the cutting, slashing, rending of flesh that it would accomplish, I slashed my wand forward. "Sectumsempra!"

I watched in exultation as the top half of the dummy was separated from the rest and bounced off the wall behind it.

"Good," Snape complimented. "That was my most powerful standard shield charm. While the Dark Lady is unlikely to use it in combat, you may be able to catch her off-guard. It is possible that she will underestimate you, though she knows that you have no aversion to the Dark Arts from our encounter last year."

I nodded. "What kind of shields is she likely to use?"

Snape thought for a moment and then responded. "If I remember correctly," he started, slow and thoughtful, "then she did not rely on magical shields very much, if at all. The Dark Lady was generally fast enough to avoid being hit, and used Transfiguration to her advantage. The Headmaster was the only one who could ever best her, and on the one occasion I saw them duel she resorted to an esoteric physical shield which seemed to have very strong negating properties, though I doubt it could withstand a killing curse. The shield was large and unwieldy, and it is unlikely she will turn to it against you. You can use her propensity for Transfiguration against her, though you will have to show her that simply slinging curses is useless."

I grunted, barely comprehending the spontaneous lecture. Casting the Dark Arts for such lengths made my brain tired, and the clarity I gained from Occlumency was fragmenting again, leaving me fuzzy and irritated.

Snape smirked. "I see that you have worn yourself out, Potter. Your stamina is also something we will have to work on. I think we are done for today, however."

I mumbled a goodbye and left, planning on taking a short nap.

Entering the Slytherin common room, I noticed Riddle sitting on a couch, looking almost as tired as I felt.

"What's with you?" I asked.

She glared at me. "What do you care?"

I glared back at her, suddenly irritated. "I suppose I don't," I ground out and brushed past her, going to my dorm.

Flopping onto my bed, I tried to clear my mind. Lately, I'd had trouble falling asleep without Occlumency. I had meant to ask Professor Snape about it, but it kept slipping my mind.

Having cleared my mind, I fell into an uneasy slumber.

I started to fall back into my routine over the next week, or as much as I could while still keeping an eye on Riddle. She seemed to be sleeping better, I noticed, though I refrained from approaching her again, not wanting a repeat of our previous conversation.

Nonetheless, her presence seemed determined to distract me at every opportunity. I was working on a Transfiguration essay when I felt her walk into the common room.

"Riddle," I said, turning to face her, "is there something you want?"

"Hardly, Potter," she replied with a frown, sitting down on an armchair with a book.

I grunted and turned back to my essay, but I could sense her sitting behind me, worrying away at my concentration like a dog at a bone.

Putting my quill down, I turned back to her again. "Well, spit it out already."

She looked at me. Opening her mouth to ask a question, she hesitated and seemed to change her mind. "Where do you go for Christmas Break? Surely you don't go back to your… guardians."

I stared at her, face blank but fighting confusion inside. Where had that come from? I decided to answer her – after all, she could ask anybody else and get the same answer. "I visit my Godfather."

She went back to her reading without a reply. I picked up my quill again, but found myself distracted by more than just the knowledge of Riddle sitting behind me.

* * *

November passed into the frosty winds of December and I found myself summoned to the Headmaster's office.

As I rode the staircase up to his office, I wondered what he wanted to talk about. My discrete surveillance of Riddle was the most likely conclusion, though it was possible that he wanted to relay some information on the Dark Lady herself.

"Harry, my boy, have a seat," Dumbledore greeted me with his usual warmth.

I sat down in the plush armchair. "Hello, Headmaster."

"How do you find your classes, Harry?" Dumbledore enquired, beginning the usual exchange of formalities.

I gave him a slight smile. "They're going fine, sir; thank you." I had started to enjoy the Headmaster's company more and more in the recent months. While at first it had been difficult to relax, remembering the momentous revelations that each visit to his office had signaled, his company now seemed more like a shelter from the storm of the world.

"Good, I am glad to hear that. And how is Miss Riddle doing?" he asked, forming a seamless segue into what I suspected was the true topic of our conversation.

How was she doing? Shifting in my seat, I wondered what exactly the Headmaster meant. "She seems to be doing fine, sir," I replied after a momentary pause. "I haven't noticed her doing anything suspicious."

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, stroking his beard. "Have you engaged in any conversations with her?"

I nodded and awaited the next question, already knowing what it would be.

Dumbledore peered at me, and with an all-too-casual air asked, "And what exactly have you discussed?"

The Headmaster was no novice at the game of subtle inquisitions, I thought, but I recognized the direction the conversation was taking from what little experience I had in the power plays of Slytherin.

I started to answer his question, but then I hesitated. Riddle hadn't given me much to work with, in truth. We'd had all of two conversations, neither very meaningful, and the only things I had gleaned were her non-verbal reactions to things I said. However, I didn't want to let Dumbledore know that I baited her. A common Slytherin tactic it may have been, I had no doubt that the Headmaster would disapprove.

In addition, I didn't feel like revealing her moment of weakness during our first talk. I wasn't sure what I had said in the first place to garner such a response, and my perception of it had been nothing more than a vague feeling hovering just on the edge of awareness.

So what came out of my mouth was rather less than a blow-by-blow description of our two brief interludes. "Not much, really. The first time I talked to her, I asked her some questions, which she ignored or avoided. The second time she asked me where I went for Christmas holidays."

Dumbledore sat in silence for a moment, thinking through my response. "Very well. Severus and I have observed a similar lack of suspicious activity, though I believe it prudent to continue to keep watch. I think that will be all for tonight, Harry."

Dismissed, I made my way from Dumbledore's office back to the Slytherin common room.

* * *

I trundled into the library, humming merrily in anticipation of the holidays. Ignoring Madam Pince as she shushed me, I dropped into my customary seat.

"Ta, Jerry," I thanked the Ravenclaw sitting across from me.

"No problem," Jerry mumbled, not looking up from his book. "Are you done with McGonagall's essay? I've got it up to _here_ with her essays."

I chuckled, pulling out my own book. "Almost, yeah. I think she's under the impression that if she gives us less work this year, we'll get used to the smaller workload and suffer during our NEWT year."

Jerry looked up and frowned. "Well she can shove her ideas up where the sun don't shine, yeah? I mean, we're taking seven NEWTs each - who cares about the effects of switching charms on animated objects? Doesn't leave any time for our own research," he grumbled.

I smiled at his frustration. Jerry was a _true_ Ravenclaw, and schoolwork sometimes got in the way of that.

"Well, mate," I drawled, scratching a few lines onto my almost-completed essay, "maybe we should have dropped Herbology when we had the chance. It's not like we're going to be healers or anything."

Jerry gave me a gimlet eye. "Aren't you going into cursebreaking? That definitely needs Herbology."

I shrugged my shoulders. "There aren't that many deadly plants out there. If there was anything that I didn't learn up to my OWLs, then I could have just bought _A Compendium of Deadly Magical Plants (and Fungi)_."

* * *

"Ah, Christmas," Sirius said, wistful. "How many a frosty morn did we spend liberating the Hogwarts kitchens of their delicious foods?"

Remus smiled at him. "Oh, some. But I remember you being more interested in setting up pranks for the returning Slytherins than pilfering the kitchens."

"I may have that at that, indeed," Sirius grinned. "So, Harry, what do you want to eat for Christmas dinner?"

I glanced at the kitchen, amused. We trusted nothing that Kreacher, Grimmauld Place's house elf, ever cooked, and Sirius' cooking was terrible. Remus could produce edible fare, but nothing fancy, so we had taken to ordering out for the holidays.

"Oh, I don't know," I mused. "How about Chinese takeout?"

Sirius chortled. "Chinese takeout for Christmas? Well, I guess we can make it work."

Remus gave a neutral hum. "Well, if we're going for, ah, non-traditional foods, then I want sushi."

Sirius made a face and gave a dramatic shudder. "How you can eat raw fish, I will never know."

"Well, Sirius, it's rather like how you eat bubble'n'squeak. You like it despite the fact that it looks about as appetizing a pile of dog droppings," Remus responded with an air of infinite patience.

"Enough," I waved my hands. "We'll get you your sushi, Remus, and we'll get me my Chinese takeout, and we'll get Sirius his bubble'n'squeak, or whatever."

"There's nothing wrong with fried vegetables," Sirius proclaimed. "But anyways, Harry, tell us about what's been happening up at Hogwarts. Dumbledore mentioned something about a Basilisk, but he didn't go into any detail."

"Oh, right," I responded, fishing for time. While Dumbledore hadn't asked me to keep anything quiet, I understood the necessity for secrecy. At the same time, I trusted Sirius and Remus not to go shouting about Horcruxes from the rooftops. I just wasn't sure how to explain the presence of a teenage Riddle at Hogwarts.

"Well, this first year, Ginny Weasely, she went missing on Halloween, so the staff mobilized a search and we Prefects were part of it. Through a series of, ah, fortunate coincidences, I found the mythical Chamber of Secrets. Do either of you know what a Horcrux is?" I asked.

When both Sirius and Remus responded in the negative, I continued. "Well, the Dark Lady Voldemort decided to split her soul to make herself immortal, and a Horcrux is the container for the split soul-piece. It turns out, actually, that the locket we found the summer before my fifth year was one. Anyways, the first one she ever made was a diary, which somehow found its way into Weasely's hands. She ended up being possessed by the soul fragment inside, which forced her to go into the Chamber, and the soul fragment started draining Ginny's life in order to resurrect itself. I, of course, manage to stumble upon them before the process is finished, and Riddle releases the Basilisk hidden in the chamber. I'd figured out what was inside before I went in, so I was prepared for it."

At this point, Remus interrupted me. "Wait, Harry, how did you protect yourself from the Basilisk's gaze?"

I shrugged. "I filtered out the light going through my glasses and charmed them to detect magic instead, so I could still see it. The way I see it, I need to actually see the Basilisk's eyes to die."

Remus perked up. "Actually, I took the liberty of doing some research on Basilisks," at which Sirius and I laughed, "Yes, yes, very funny – obviously, there hasn't been very much experimentation done on the subject of their deadly eyesight, but there is some conjecture. We know that petrifaction occurs when the eyes are seen in a reflection or through a visible distortion, but magic doesn't reflect of non-magical objects like mirrors and puddles of water. So it makes more sense that the Basilisk is always emitting a field of magic which kills anything in its vicinity when the victim sees the Basilisks eyes. Of course, that doesn't make sense from an evolutionary perspective, but given that Basilisks can only be created deliberately, it's likely that it's a magically engineered trait."

Sirius stared at Remus in fascination, while I nodded in agreement. "That makes sense based on the fact that I'm not dead or petrified. Of course, I didn't actually take down the Basilisk. What actually happened was that I heard the Hogwarts professors arriving, because I had sent off a ghost to alert them before I went in, and I ran into Riddle's incorporeal form. And, uh, that hurt a lot and I blacked out. Headmaster Dumbledore thinks that I was a Horcrux, and Riddle absorbed the piece of soul inside me when I ran into her. Now we have a sixteen-year old Tom Riddle taking classes at Hogwarts," I finished, lamely.

Sirius stared at me in bewilderment. "So what you're saying is that you accidentally reincorporated a younger version of the Dark Lady?"

I ducked my head in embarrassment.

Sirius continued on, oblivious. "And what's Dumbledore thinking, letting her free like that?"

At this point I interjected, not wanted Sirius to misinterpret the situation. "Well, actually, the Headmaster made her take some Unbreakable Vows. I don't know what they are, but I trust his judgment."

Sirius slumped in his chair, deflated, while Remus looked thoughtful. "Perhaps he wishes to use her a source of information?"

"Maybe. It's what I would do in his position, probably," I shrugged in response.

"Well," Sirius ran a hand through his hair, "I trust I don't have to warn you to be careful around her."

"Of course not," I reassured him. "I've been keeping a close eye on her."

* * *

Perhaps I should have been more subtle in my spying, though I was hard-pressed to figure out how. Now that I was back at Hogwarts from break, I resumed my surveillance, but found myself stymied. It seemed that every time I so much as stole a glance at Riddle, she managed to catch my eyes. Frustrated at this turn of events, I resolved to ignore her for a while and see if I could catch her off-guard later. Of course, I should have known better than to imagine that she wouldn't get curious.

"Potter."

I grunted in reply. Riddle had been staring at the back of my head from across the common room for a while now, but I had ignored her in favor of continuing to read. It was obvious that she had gotten tired of the treatment.

"Potter!" she barked.

"What?" I looked over my armchair, sending her a mulish look.

She smirked. "Do you know how _irritating_ it is to have somebody staring at you all day?"

I scowled at her, not deigning myself with a reply.

Her smirk grew into a malicious grin. "I imagine you will soon."

"Uh-huh," I dismissed her, pointedly turning back to my book.

She walked back to the other side of the common room, but I could feel her eyes on me for the rest of the night.

I wasn't about to make her newfound task of annoying me easy for her, though.

Looking around the abandoned classroom, I let out a sigh. It was one of many that I had found over the years at Hogwarts, and I rather hoped that Riddle didn't know about it. I realized it was unlikely, though. Riddle must have searched the entire castle trying to find the Chamber of Secrets.

On the other hand, if she knew where _every_ place I might hide was, it was that many more she would have to search through to find me.

I had cleaned off the dust, but it was still rather dreary. The only reason I wasn't studying in my dormitory were my roommates, who were often intolerably loud.

Luck was not on my side, though. Half an hour later the door slammed open, and Riddle marched in with an insufferable expression of smugness on her face.

I let my head fall backward, hanging over the chair. "What do you want?"

Somehow I didn't have it in me to find her presence more than a vague irritation. In fact, I felt a slight amusement at the thought that she was wasting her time and energy looking for me.

"Nothing," she drew out the word, savoring it. "Just wanted to see what you were up to." She gave me a cheery smile.

I returned a mocking grin. "Well, you've seen, now bugger off."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Is that any way to speak to a lady?"

I snorted.

She shrugged. "Point. But it's still _rude_."

"And you barging in here isn't?" I shot back.

She put on her best innocent expression and I fought the urge to snort again. It was clear that I wasn't going to get any more studying done, so I packed up and left for the common room, brushing my way past her.

My hideout had been discovered, but I wasn't worried. I had plenty of places to hole up in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Riddle had a knack for finding me. I checked for tracking spells on my person, my clothing, and my belongings, but came up clean. It was possible that she was using tracking spells after the fact to divine my location, so I started warding my hideouts.

Either I was doing something wrong, or Riddle was particularly gifted with this branch of magic, because she found me found me every time without fail, despite my best efforts.

Growing desperate, I sought help from the hidden servants of Hogwarts – the house-elves.

Walking into the kitchens, I looked around. The hustle and bustle was familiar, reminiscent of three years ago when I caught Wormtail here. This time I was visible, however, and a house-elf soon scampered up to me.

"How may we be of service, Master Harry Potter?"

I looked at the elf, trying to figure out the best way to phrase my request. "Well, I'm looking for a place in the castle to hide from somebody. The thing is, I've tried a bunch of abandoned classrooms, but she keeps finding me, even though I put up wards. Do you know any actual secret hiding spots in the castle?"

The house-elf nodded its head, ears flopping. "There is the Come-and-Go room, or the Room of Requirements. It makes itself whatever Master wishes it to be. Master Harry Potter may find it on the seventh floor corridor near the statue of Barnabas the Barmy – walk back and forth in front of the wall three times, thinking of what you need, and the Room will appear."

"Thank you very much," I gave the elf a smile and left.

Marching up to the wall in the seventh-floor corridor, I decided to test out the room first.

_I need a bathroom_, I repeated in my head as a mantra, walking back and forth three times. A door appeared in the wall, and I strode in.

I glanced around, marveling in the room's power. It had patterned itself after the Prefect's bathroom, except it seemed made for one person. Realized I actually needed to use the facilities, I conducted my business and exited the room, watching the door shrink back into nothingness.

My next request to the Room was for a quiet place to study, and it exceeded my expectations. The Room was now a miniature of the Slytherin common room, with the same upholstery, a couch in front of a flickering fire, and padded armchairs. It was, in a word, perfect.

The perfection was shattered an hour later, when the door opened and Riddle walked in, looking supremely pleased with herself.


	4. The Bitter Winds

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Yeah, this is a bit late. And a bit short. Still, the ending of this chapter was pretty clear from the start and I didn't want to pad it for the sake of word count. I may or may not be moving to a biweekly update schedule, depending on RL. Thanks to Carmine and Styx on DLP for catching some mistakes.**

* * *

I jumped up from my seat, dropping my book to the floor. The first signs of true anger ever since we started this twisted game of cat-and-mouse trickled up my spine, and I asked, "How the bloody hell did you find me here?"

She parried my question with her own. "How did _you_ find this room?"

Hoping she would go away if I answered, I said, "I just asked the house-elves for a place to hide from you."

She smirked. "Well, clearly you didn't do it well enough-" she froze, her expression of superiority replaced with a shark-like grin. "Thank you, Potter. I do believe you have solved a mystery for me," she said, and left.

I felt elation inject itself into the sense of confusion I had felt up to that point in the conversation, and that was when I noticed something was very wrong. That elation… was not my own. And I knew, with a sick feeling in my stomach, how exactly Riddle had been finding me so easily, even if she herself did not know. Dumbledore had hypothesized about a connection between Voldemort and I caused by the killing curse. It seemed that connection had not been broken when Riddle absorbed the soul fragment inside of me – just diverted to Riddle herself.

I picked up the book I had dropped and tucked it into my bag. I knew just who to go to.

Standing in front of Snape's office, I wondered how I was supposed to explain my predicament to him. _Professor, I need help blocking out a mental connection to Riddle so she stops following me around._

Well, that would do, I supposed. Knocking on his door, I heard a muffled "Enter" and I walked inside.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, putting down his quill.

Suddenly, what had seemed so elegant and concise in my head felt clunky now that I was about to say it. I cleared my throat and pushed forward. "I have some sort of mental connection to Riddle. I need help figuring out how to block it. My regular Occlumency barriers don't do it."

Snape looked at me for a moment, as if guarding his reaction to what I had just said. "Very well," he said. "I will see what I can do. Meet me," he consulted his calendar, "at seven p.m. tomorrow. I will ask Miss Riddle to be here as well, since it will likely be easier to deduce a solution to your problem with her presence."

I thanked him and left. Occlumency would still work in the meanwhile to clear my head of her emotions.

The next day, I entered Snape's office to see him and Riddle engaged in a quiet conversation. At my entrance, Snape turned to face me. "Have a seat, both of you," he said, waving his wand and conjuring two chairs in front of his desk.

I sat down, not looking at Riddle. I didn't know why I was so angry with her, but what she had done felt like betraying a trust. The problem was I had never trusted her in the first place.

I was Occluded, but I could still feel her sitting beside me, her presence pressing against my senses.

Snape turned to Riddle. "Do you know the basics of Occlumency?"

Riddle nodded, and Snape's face betrayed no surprise. I wasn't surprised either, in truth – it would have been surprising had she _not_ known Occlumency, given her activities during her original school years.

"Very well. Pay close attention to your mind while I attempt to block the connection from Mr. Potter's end," Snape told her and turned to me. "As you very well know, Mr. Potter, normal Occlumency barriers are extended outward, protecting from pressure from the outside. If what I suspect is true, then you will have to use an inverse process here – think of this connection as a tunnel from the inside of your mind. You must press _inward_ with your barriers to block it off."

I nodded my understanding and concentrated. The process of clearing my mind was necessary for outward Occlumency barriers, but once I learned to create them I had never distinguished between the two. With slow, calm determination, I allowed my mind to fill with emotions from Riddle while maintaining the outward barriers. It would be easier to block off the connection if I could feel where it was coming from.

Most of what I felt was foreign to my mind was anxiety and anticipation. It seemed that Riddle was almost as eager to block this connection as I was, and it solidified my opinion that she had not known what was guiding her to me.

Probing deep into my own mind, I went deeper and deeper, guided by nothing more than instinct and the increasing strength of the emotions I felt from Riddle. Eventually, I came to a point where I could press no further. Curious, I prodded what I thought was the endpoint of the connection and nearly fell out of my chair when I sensed Riddle jerk next to me. I smirked. The fact that I could deliberately manipulate the connection in some ways was interesting, but that was not my goal for today.

I concentrated and started layering solid shields in the area. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes, satisfied. I could no longer feel her emotions through the bond and her presence was no more obvious to me than Snape's was. Glancing at her, I saw her staring straight ahead.

"Well?" Snape prompted.

"I think I've done it," I replied, looking once more at Riddle.

"Miss Riddle?" Snape asked.

"I noticed a change," she replied, voice quiet. "I believe the connection has been blocked, but we should perform some tests to be sure."

"Well, if you are both satisfied," Snape stood up, "then my work is done. Mr. Potter, Miss Riddle... if you please?" Snape dismissed us.

I stood up and left for the common room, Riddle trailing behind me in silence.

* * *

I trailed my finger down the length of the page, humming under my breath. There was a specific passage on expansion charms that I was looking for, but I couldn't remember where it was.

"So," Jerry said from his side of the table, putting down his own book. "Who's the new girl?"

I looked at him, surprised. He had managed to notice her through the aversion charm? Well, no matter, I thought. I had a cover story prepared for the eventuality.

Shrugging, I bookmarked the page I was on. "Just a new transfer student Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on."

"And the aversion charm?" Jerry smirked.

I blinked. So he _had_ noticed it. Giving him a guilty grin, "She asked for it, and Dumbledore put it on her. I have no idea why, though. We don't talk much."

A truth to round out the lie would make it sound more believable - It _was_ true that Riddle had been avoid me recently. Besides, Jerry was a Ravenclaw. He nodded, accepting the explanation.

"What's her name?" he questioned.

"Riddle. Tom Riddle," I answered, figuring there was no harm in answering when he could just ask her himself.

"Tom?" Jerry asked, with a frown. "Is that short for something?"

"Not as far as I know," I shook my head. "Why?"

"Well, it is a boy's name," he whispered, spying Madam Pince behind me.

I grunted, opening my book back up. "I suppose it is. I've never asked her about it, but be my guest."

"No thanks," he chuckled, opening his own book. "I've got better things to do than worry about other peoples' names."

* * *

It had been getting hard to ignore the signs, even with the convenient excuse that the now-blocked connection offered me.

Still, Riddle's condition had deteriorated so far that she was dozing off in class, and I felt a vague guilt at not confronting her earlier.

I looked at her from across the common room, and wondered how to frame my concern without her getting the wrong idea. I wasn't her _friend_, but she was my responsibility under my agreement with Dumbledore regardless.

Her hair was matted and she had noticeable shadows under her eyes - this condition was remniscent of the burnout students experienced during and after OWLs, and I was familiar with it due to my friendship with several Ravenclaws. I had even experienced it myself, but not to such a degree.

Riddle had been showing up in my presence more and more often in recent days as well. I had not noticed it at the time, but looking back, I had seen her more often than our coinciding class schedule would have granted naturally. This had not bothered me, as I had stopped keeping track of her ever since she stopped following me around. Now I wondered if she was seeking me out, or if I was just growing paranoid.

Our eyes met from across the room, and she failed to look away. As good a sign as any, I thought, standing up and walking over.

She shifted,listless, and closed the book she had been pretending to read.

"Riddle," I offered, voice neutral.

"Potter," she replied, a faint echo of mocking in her tone. Or maybe she was just tired.

"How are you doing?" I asked, looking for a more substantial response.

"Is there something you want?" she countered. She seemed to be intent on cutting this conversation as short as possible. I decided to indulge her, if only because I wanted to avoid playing mind games with her.

"You aren't sleeping." A direct assertion - any evasion would be obvious, and a lack of an answer would be a response in and of itself.

She glanced away. "It's none of your business."

"It _is_ my business," I insisted despite my misgivings. Riddle had to understand that she couldn't get away with killing herself, either by accident or neglect. "Somebody has to take responsibility for the stupid things you do, even if they only hurt you."

She tried to give me an angry glare, but it came out half-hearted. "Don't try to _help_ me, Potter. It only causes problems."

She stood and walked in the girls' dormitories, where I couldn't follow, leaving me bewildered.

* * *

I paced in front of the empty wall.

_A place where I can practice animations, a place where I can practice animations, a place where I can practice animations_.

The door to the Room of Requirements appeared and I opened it, curious to see how the Room would interpret my wishes.

A large, undecorated room filled with statues and statuettes of various sizes and shapes greeted me. Here a dog of gold, there a lion of obsidian, it appeared that the Room had anticipated the need for various challenges.

I went straight to work - animation was only the first of the magic that I would be attempting to master.

A few hours later, I was sweaty and panting, yet satisfied with my progress. I could control and direct up to three objects without significant conscious effort, as long as the instructions were simple. '_Attack the dummy_' was about as complicated as it got, thankfully.

It turned out that the neither the size nor material of the object to be animated affected the difficulty of doing so, but I realized that in a practical combat situation, I would have to learn to transfigure or conjure things that were difficult to dispatch.

Larger-scale transfiguration and conjuration were next on my list, but I thought that seeking help from a professional would be a wise course of action. Dumbledore would no doubt be able to provide information to speed up my learning, or perhaps even provide some esoteric techniques.

Standing on the rotating stairway was becoming a familiar pastime, so much so that I wondered about becoming a teacher in hopes of becoming Headmaster one day. Then I snorted. Teaching students? Not if it meant I had to actually, well, teach.

"Harry," Dumbledore welcomed me into his office. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Headmaster," I replied, sitting down and settling into the comfortable routine.

"Is there something you would like to talk to me about?" he prompted, leading me to believe that he was busy.

I got straight to the point. "Well, sir, I was wondering if you had any suggestions for larger transfigurations and conjuring? Beyond what the standard textbook has," I hastened to add. "I remember from the memories you showed me of your duels with Voldemort that she starts to use transfiguration when just throwing out Dark Arts doesn't kill her opponent. I need to know as much as possible about it, so I can try to match her, or even just try to counter it effectively."

Dumbledore stroked his beard and his eyes drifted away, lost in thought. "Yes, indeed," he muttered. Then he turned back to me. "I believe that countering her strategy would be more effective than attempting to imitate it, given that she has years of experience with it."

The Headmaster stood up and turned to his bookshelves, and his hand alighted on a tome. He withdrew it and faced me with a grave expression on his face. "Harry, I must caution you to be very careful with the knowledge in this book. While it will prove effective against Voldemort's transfigurations, much of it is considered to be Dark Arts by the Ministry, and so you may not use it where others could catch you."

He handed me the book, and I grasped it, running a hand along the spine. _Control and its Destruction_.

I stood once again in the Room of Requirements, reviewing what I had learned from the book. It covered many topics, from the Imperius curse, various compulsions, and other methods of magical control, to their counters. But perhaps the most interesting (and, I suspect, what Dumbledore wanted me to find) was the last section of the book, explaining in great detail how to break the control your opponent held of their own _magic_.

When I had asked the Room if it could simulate the control a wizard had over his own spells, it given me a "yes" written on a small piece of paper. That the room could answer questions was something to be followed up on later, I thought. At the moment, I was standing in front of an illusions of a large stone block.

I assumed that illusions were the easiest magic to break control of, as they required the most focus on the part of the caster to create and maintain. Centering my focus, I pushed my magic forward, searching for the connection that bound the Room to the illusion. Breaking this link was not about any specific spells so much as concentration and an instinctive understanding of magic. It explained how Dumbledore always bested Voldemort when the Dark Lady resorted to transfiguration, especially if she did not know about this type of magic.

Pushing my magic outward, I was overwhelmed under the deluge of magic that the Room held. Trying to find the connection to the illusion was like trying to find a grain of sand in the roiling ocean. Nonetheless, I soldiered forward. I was getting a better idea of how each piece of magic I felt was separated, and realized that most of what i was feeling - a broad, all-encompassing hum - was actually the ambient magic of Hogwarts. As I processed this realization, I started paying more attention to the magic overlayed on it, searching in particular for anything that felt like a thread or narrow band.

After a few minutes, I stumbled upon something I thought might be the illusion. The magic was thin, almost insubstantial. I surged forward and shaped my will into a lancing edge, laughing with exultation as the strand snapped and the block in front of me disappeared. After the momentary high wore off, I realized that I had been kneeling for several minutes. Standing up and rubbing my knees, I frowned. I would have to practice more - not only was my speed lacking, but I couldn't even stay upright while searching.

Ignoring the budding headache, I faced the new illusion. This was truly a skill that I could use to defend myself against Voldemort.

Entering the common room, I sank into a chair and grinned despite the pounding in my head. I had improved my speed by several orders of magnitude, and while I still wasn't fast enough to use the technique in combat, I hoped that I could start practicing it against a true opponent after one or two more training sessions.

Looking around, I felt a frown tug at my lips. Riddle was sprawled on the couch across from me and appeared to be asleep, but it was far too early for anybody to be sleeping.

I stood up and made my way over to her, crouching down. "Riddle," I whispered.

She twitched and muttered something indistinct.

"Riddle," I hissed. This was getting out of hand - if she didn't go to the Hospital Wing, I'd drag her to Dumbledore myself.

As if defying me, she remained asleep. I poked her in the shoulder and watched her stir, blinking at me with groggy eyes.

"Potter," she mumbled, "if you don't have a good reason for waking me up, I swear I'll hex your bollocks off."

"It's seven in the evening, Riddle," I replied, ignoring her threat. "Are you still not sleeping?"

She covered a yawn, then shifted around. "I fail to see why it's any of your business. Now, if you're done being stupid, let me sleep."

I tapped my chin. "No, I don't think so. You're obviously having some sort of problem, and you implied that it was from something that I did. Why don't you tell me what it was?"

She sat up, glaring at me. "Fine! If you really want to know, I haven't been able to sleep right since you decided to wall off the bloody connection. And what exactly are you going to do about that?"

I pushed my shock to the back of my mind and attempted to address the immediate issue. "Why would blocking the connection cause you to lose sleep? Did you have sleeping problems, ah, before all this happened too?"

"No," she answered, resigned to the upcoming conversation. "I was sleeping just fine before I made the diary, and I was sleeping _great_ after I woke up from it."

I looked around and cast a discreet silencing charm. "Could it be because of how you made the diary and how you came back from it?" I tapped my scar.

She narrowed her eyes in consideration. "Maybe, but Dumbledore said that I took what was there," flicking her eyes up to my forehead, "and I agree with him. I don't see what it has to do with anything."

"Well," I parsed my thoughts to make them more coherent. "There has to be a reason the connection was formed in the first place. What if it wasn't _enough_?"

She stared at me, horrified realization dawning. "Are you telling me that I won't be able to function properly without the connection?"

I gave a gallic shrug, helpess before the situation that presented itself to us. "I don't know - it certainly seems that way. We can go ask Dumbledore for his opinion, if you want."

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Or... we could just test it."

"Test it? You mean you want me to open the connection back up?" I asked.

She glanced away, not responding. Even without the connection, the gesture was easy to read. She didn't want to admit her dependency on anybody else.

I thought about what opening the connection would mean for me, and decided that there wouldn't be any significant drawbacks. I didn't rely on it, so I could shut it off at any time - this knowledge would keep her from abusing it, I hoped.

"Fine," I acquiesced. She jerked, startled by my agreement.

I closed my eyes and sank into my mind. The barriers I had placed around the connection were still there, so I started stripping them down. It only took a few minutes. Removing barriers was always faster than putting them up.

As the last one fell, I opened my eyes to find Riddle's gaze locked on me. A heartbeat later, she gave a slight shudder and tilted her head back. Before I could ask her what was wrong, I felt a rush of pleasure stream from the connection, meshed with a tangle of positive emotions.

Basking in the warm glow, I turned my attention back to Riddle, only to find that she had collapsed onto the couch, deep asleep.


	5. A Light Drizzle

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Started this chapter yesterday and finished it today, far ahead of schedule, making it exactly a month since I posted the story (though, admittedly, not a month since I started it). The third scene is one of my favorites in the whole story so far, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks to Carmine Rose and Sageun for corrections and the rest of the DLP crew for motivation. OnTheImportanceOfLungs wrote a one-shot inspired by this story, titled D Minor - go read it! And without further ado, I present Chapter 5!**

* * *

I examined her relaxed visage with a detached sense of bemusement. I wasn't quite sure what had happened- well, no. I knew perfectly well the _what_, but I didn't understand the _why_.

I still felt the lingering traces of happiness, but now that Riddle was asleep I found it difficult to distinguish between her emotions and my own.

Her pale skin, which had started to look waxy in recent weeks, had regained some color, and the stress lines that had been so clear on her face had faded.

Riddle shifted in discomfort, arranging herself into a more natural sleeping position. Her collapse had left her sitting awkwardly, her head leaning back, something that was sure to leave her with a stiff neck in the morning.

Well, I thought, she would just have to sleep here. I couldn't exactly carry her up to her dorm myself and I didn't trust any of the girls in my year not to ask questions if I asked them to carry her up.

Conjuring a blanket on top of her, I turned inward to my thoughts. My feelings for Riddle had never been positive, ranging from annoyance and irritation to outright anger, and while some of them were responses to her actions, I knew that much of it had to do with my perception of her as a younger Voldemort. Now I knew that for all that she resembled Voldemort at sixteen, she was not the same person - if nothing else, she relied on me for her continued health and well-being.

My musings were interrupted by somebody sitting down next to me and saying, "Potter."

Mark Isbourne, seventh-year Slytherin, center chaser on our Quidditch team, was looking at me with a smirk.

"Isbourne," I responded with a nod of my head.

"Who's the bird?" he asked, nodding toward Riddle with a lecherous grin.

I suppressed the frown and instinctive indignation that rose within me and cobbled together a hasty response.

Returning his smirk, "She's not for you, Isbourne."

He winked at me and clapped me on the back. "I get it, mate. By the way, we've got practice on Thursday after dinner."

I watched him trudge off with an impassive expression on my face. That had been... a somewhat irregular encounter. Upon my sorting, I had not received a positive reception in Slytherin, and quickly negotiated a system of peace with the rest of the house - don't talk to me and I'll stay out of your way. That had not changed upon my arrival on the Slytherin Quidditch team. We were friendly on the pitch, but apart from that we went our separate ways.

Isbourne's interest in Riddle was perhaps natural, given that he had seen me interacting with her, but if so that was a loophole in the aversion charm. This was not surprising, in truth, for the charm was complicated and made more difficult by the fact that it had exceptions to its scope. On the other hand, he had asked about Riddle first and then told me about the practice, which smelled strongly of an excuse.

I would have to talk to Dumbledore about this tomorrow. I wasn't worried, yet, but if I was to interact with Riddle we couldn't afford to have people noticing her, as it would lead to all sorts of interesting questions.

The next morning, I awoke with the oppressive weight of sleep still pressing upon me. It was tempting to just let it drag me down under the current of dreams once again, but I had plans for today and sat up with a grunt, shrugging it off. Throwing off the yoke of sleep reminded me of dispelling weak enchantments, but I pushed the thought aside and went about my morning routine.

Walking into the common room, I saw Riddle standing up and stretching.

"Just wake up?" I asked, deciding to lead into my conversation with as much nonchalance as I could muster.

"Yes," she replied with a grimace. "Though I could have used another few hours," giving me a slight smile.

I blinked. Well... "Isbourne noticed you yesterday after you fell asleep. I think we should talk to the Headmaster - there may be a loophole in the aversion charm."

I felt a trickle of irritation through our bond and realized with a start that the buoyancy I had been feeling this early in the morning was not entirely mine. Since when was Riddle a morning person? For that matter, since when was she so _happy_?

Her smile disappeared, and after a moment she replied, "Very well. I'll meet you here in ten minutes. Don't go anywhere."

She left for her dormitory and I snorted. _There_ was that usual, vicious attitude - though I didn't know if it was directed at me or at the problem in general. Still, her earlier mood was confusing. I didn't pretend to know Riddle very well, but I thought I had at least a basic understanding of her personality from Dumbledore's training and from the few interactions we had engaged in. Her early morning happiness was bizarre, as I couldn't quite understand what had made her happy. Voldemort got her kicks from torture and murder, but Riddle didn't have any hobbies that I was aware of, apart from perhaps studying and research. She didn't just wake up filled with joy and sunshine.

The flow of my thoughts was broken when Riddle walked back in wearing a new set of robes. "Shall we?"

I nodded and stood. "Let's go."

* * *

The walk to Dumbledore's office was silent. While I had questions I wanted to ask Riddle, they were rather personal in nature and I didn't think she would answer me on a good day, let alone in the foul mood she seemed to be in now.

We ascended the staircase and entered Dumbledore's office. Fawkes trilled in greeting and I smiled at the phoenix. Dumbledore peered at us over entwined fingers. "Mr. Potter, Miss Riddle. What brings you to my office today?"

I glanced at her and by silent agreement took the lead. "Headmaster, I think there is a loophole in the aversion charm you cast. Our conversation was noticed by one of the seventh-year Slytherins - Mark Isbourne. He didn't know who she was, and didn't seem to care, but I think that if somebody is focused on me while we're having a conversation, they can focus on... Miss Riddle afterward with less trouble."

Dumbledore was focused on me, but he flicked his eyes at Riddle in curiosity. I could tell he wanted to know about our conversation, but, well, it was personal. I wasn't about to tell him without him even asking, and I wasn't even sure I would then. Riddle wouldn't hold for such a betrayal of her trust, and at the moment her trust was far more valuable than having the Headmaster's curiosity sated.

Dumbledore nodded, satisfied with the conclusion he had drawn. "This is likely a function of the way the charm operates. Its reach extends to any inanimate object that Miss Riddle bestows her attention upon, and this is how her homework passes by unremarked. However, when Miss Riddle and you engage in a conversation, the charm attempts to cover you in its scope as well, weakening its overall hold. If somebody is focused on you, Mr. Potter, then they may be able to bypass it temporarily. I will attempt to come up with a solution to this problem, though it will likely not be as difficult as you fear. The connection you share may aid in this."

I nodded, and as one Riddle and I rose and left his office.

* * *

As we walked back to the common room, I considered asking Riddle to help me practice breaking other people's control over their own magic. Practicing with and against her would be ideal, I realized. Beyond the fact that there was nobody I trusted enough with this knowledge beyond Dumbledore himself, and perhaps Snape, Riddle's magic should be similar to Voldemort's, if not almost identical.

Still, I wasn't sure how much I trusted her, despite the hold I believed I had over her. My indecision stretched long enough for Riddle to notice it, apparently, for she stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to me. "Ask, already."

I cursed myself silently. Feeling Riddle's amusement at my predicament, I looked up to find the corner of her lip curled up. I sighed and motioned toward a nearby empty classroom. "I was going to ask you something, but it's probably best to have some privacy."

She nodded in approval and entered the room. I followed and shut the door behind us, warding it with silencing and alarm spells.

"Well?" she prompted.

I didn't feel comfortable asking her this, but I had to know before I could trust her with this information. "How do you feel about your... counterpart?"

_Anger-confusion-fear_. I jerked.

She stared at me, face impassive. "She is an impediment to my future goals."

From anybody else, I would have thought that answer an evasion. From her, I knew it was the truth, for she knew I had felt her reaction, and that was all that needed to be said.

That answered the question as to whether she would attempt to collaborate with the Dark Lady, then. Haltingly, I explained to her what I wanted her help with. "Dumbledore gave me a book with a little-known magic that allows one to break the control other people have over their maintained spells. I practiced it in... err, against the Room of Requirements, and I managed to dispel some illusions and small transfigurations, but I need to practice against a live opponent."

I could feel her curiosity sharpen to a fine point as her gaze bored into mine. "And why are you asking _me_?"

I debated how much to tell her, but realized that she would likely sense an evasion the same way I would from her, and telling her the truth probably wouldn't hurt. "Have you felt magic before?"

She nodded, and I took this as a signal to continue. "Then you know that everybody's magic feels different. I figure that your magic is pretty similar to Voldemort's."

She flinched, the motion almost imperceptible, but I felt her recoil at the thought as well. My mind went nearly blank with panic at the stupidity of what I had just said, given her very recent, very _negative_ reaction to the mention of her counterpart. And I, in my infinite wisdom, managed to compare the two of them!

"Well, I - that is, I'd let you practice it on me as well," I babbled, trying to mollify my blunder.

Her light blue eyes resembled chips of ice. Perhaps I was a coward, but I didn't dare try to separate her emotions from my own inside my head.

In the end, it didn't matter. "You trust me that much?"

The question was asked with no inflection, but I understood the vulnerability that implied. I had a hard time keeping a blank face, before I realized how pointless it was. The question provided me with the perfect opening to mend the rift that my mistake may have caused. "Of course I do. You're not _her_," I bit out.

She smirked, and I felt the depression and anxiety lift like a fog from my mind. "Of course I'm not."

She strode out of the door and back down the hallway, her intended destination clear. I scrambled off the chair and jogged after her. It wouldn't do to let her set the tone of the practice. I would be the one teaching her, after all.

* * *

We reached the Room of Requirements and Riddle glanced at me, a question in her eyes. In response, I strode forward and paced in front of the wall, recreating the same room that I had used to practice this technique.

It was so _convenient_, I thought, that in context-dependent situations like this I could read her gestures and intentions this easily, though I wondered what it said about me that we had taken to communicating like this so naturally.

The Room had presented the same block-shaped illusion that I had dispelled upon my first attempt with this magic. "You said you've felt magic before? Did you do it on purpose?"

Riddle nodded. "In Hogwarts, too," she said, preempting my next question.

I smirked. "Well, then, you know how overwhelming it is if you're trying to find something delicate. Like an illusion," I gestured to the block. "Go for it."

She closed her eyes and I felt a faint echo of the same trance-like state that I had entered when searching for the thread of the illusion.

I thought, perhaps, that I had not given her enough instruction or guidance, but realized that she could figure it out herself. Apart from being more intelligent than I was, she already knew how to sense magic, and that was a significant part of what the book covered in regard to this magic.

She stayed steady on her feet and I was impressed despite myself. She had not done this before, for my speed had improved by several orders of magnitude with only a few hours of practice, but she must have done something that required her to sense the magic around her. It took me several tries to remain standing when I had started learning.

A brief moment later, I sensed her rush of excitement, similar to what I had felt the first time I broke the thread of the illusion, and she blinked. I turned in surprise to where the block had been sitting only to see it gone.

Riddle turned to me with a shark-like grin. "Did I pass?"

I snorted. "I admit I'm impressed. But do you think you can do that during a duel?"

She gave me a more assessing look. "Can you?"

"I don't know. After a couple hours of practice, I could do it with my eyes open and it would only take me a few seconds, but I'm not sure how well I could focus on fighting in the meanwhile," I responded. "That is why I asked you for help, after all. By the way, how exactly did you break the thread of the illusion?"

She quirked an eyebrow at me. "I just crushed it."

I shook my head. "It's inefficient, at least for something as tenuous as an illusion. Personally, I shaped my will into a sharp edge. It requires less focus past the initial concentration."

"I see," Riddle nodded, and turned back to the block, which had reappeared. She closed her eyes.

Fifteen seconds later, there was no block.

I rocked back on my heels, impressed once again. Perhaps we'd even have time to practice against each other today.

Three minutes later, she was down to four seconds in breaking the illusion.

"Try it with your eyes open," I instructed.

She opened her eyes and stumbled slightly. I winced in sympathy, knowing from experience how disorienting it was to sense magic with your eyes open for the first time.

Nonetheless, the block disappeared in less than half a minute.

After she grasped how to do it with her eyes open, we switched to minor transfigurations.

Half an hour later, I asked the Room for some chairs and a table. Riddle collapsed into a chair, exhaustion clear on her face. I felt a mild pounding in my head, despite not having done anything but watch and comment, and realized that she was suffering from a headache. The Room provided a cup of water upon request, and I flicked a headache-easing charm at her.

"Thank you," she mumbled in between gulps of water.

After she finished, I eyed her for a moment. "Well, you picked that up a lot faster than I thought you would, but it seems to have worn you out."

She shrugged, and it occurred to me that she was not fully recovered from the lack of sleep in the last month.

"Maybe we should duel tomorrow?" I suggested.

"I'm not that tired," she snapped, and I realized that she had probably taken that as an insult.

"Alright," I grinned at her, "let's do it."

* * *

We stood five meters apart from each other in the dueling ring that the Room had provided.

"What rules?" Riddle asked.

"Nothing meant to be deadly, and nothing that's not easily reversible, I guess," I replied.

"But Dark Magic is useful," she complained.

"Yes, but it's hardly conducive to what we're trying to practice. Besides, there's some Dark Magic that's not necessarily lethal," I rebutted with a smirk.

"Whatever," she dismissed my comment, tapping her hair with her wand to tie it back. "Whenever you're ready."

I took a side-stance and started counting down, while lowering myself into the trance-like state necessary for sensing magic. "Three. Two. One-"

I conjured a large spray of water and sidestepped the Paralysis hex that Riddle had sent at me. Batting aside the minor spells she was throwing out, I blasted the water apart with a Concussion curse and followed up with a quick wide-area freezing charm, creating a shower of ice.

Riddle banished the ice back at me along with a tangle of ropes, but I stopped them with an _Impedimenta_, ducking under her follow-up stunner.

I realized that I needed a true distraction, or I would never catch her off-guard. That would be harder than it seemed, I thought, as the connection would prevent her from being caught like that.

The buzzing of magic made it nearly impossible for me to clear my mind while I was dodging and blocking her barrage of spells, but I _pushed_ and was left with a sudden sharp clarity.

Riddle had gotten tired of direct attacks, it seemed, so she had transfigured the ropes into a writhing mass of snakes and sent them to attack me.

"_Stop_," I hissed, while transfiguring the shards of melting ice littering the floor into spiders made of crystal-clear glass.

The snakes ignored me and continued to advance, while Riddle was occupied with controlling such a large number of transfigured entities.

I directed my spiders to attack and at the same time, _stabbed_ with my will, trying to puncture the control Riddle held over her creations.

I felt the mesh of her control waver for but a moment before it solidified, and without warning she lashed out at my own control over the spiders, which were now engaged in combat with the snakes.

Her attack was like a stroke with a gigantic broadsword, sacrificing subtlety for brute strength.

I deflected the force of her magic, drawing upon my training in Occlumency, and flicked my wand at her, casting a Stunner.

She dropped to one knee to avoid the spell and redoubled her attempts to break my control of the spiders. I think she was growing desperate, as she was already tired and realized that if she didn't end it soon, I would overtake her by splitting my focus.

This time, however, she did not shape her magic in a way that allowed me to easily avoid it, and I grunted with the effort of holding my control. The spiders and snakes were still fighting it out, neither side able to inflict significant damage upon the other.

I cast about for something, anything which would distract her, and remembered my offhand comment to her about non-lethal dark magic. Inspiration struck me and I waved my wand around the room, whispering, "_Umbra congelum_." As I finished my sweep and pointed my wand at Riddle, she hissed in recognition and barked out, "_Lumos Maxima_!"

The shadows which had flown and attached themselves to her were torn apart, but in her moment of distraction I lanced out with my magic and severed her thinning control over the snakes.

The magical backlash sent her to her knees with a gasp, and she was unable to dodge the Stunner I sent at her.

Panting, I dispelled the spiders and cleaned up the water and ropes littering the ground.

I let go of my suppressed emotions and woke Riddle with a gentle _Rennervate_.

Riddle shot up and with a pained groan flopped back down. I felt a small spike of pain in my head and winced.

"Come on," I said, helping her up by the sleeve. "I've got a headache-relief potion in the dorm - I don't think the charm will do much a second time."

She grunted and stood with with only a slight wobble, shrugging off my help. We made our way back to the common room in silence, with Riddle determinedly not looking me in the eyes.

I snorted in amusement at her stubbornness, and she glanced over at me only for our eyes to meet. She whipped her head back and winced at her mistake, and I snorted again.

In retaliation, she pushed _HEADACHE-frustration-dizziness-HEADACHE_ through the bond and I stumbled, shooting her an irritated glare.

By then, we had arrived at the common room and she flopped down into a chair. I went into my dorm and grabbed the potion from my trunk. Walking back into the common room, I passed the bottle off to Riddle and sank onto a couch, feeling the first stirrings of exhaustion myself.

She gulped down the brew and I felt her pain ease away. "Next time, we should practice breaking each other's control first. See if we can't get used to it before trying it in a duel."

Riddle nodded, not bothering with a verbal reply. Glancing around, I cast a privacy ward. "How good is your Legilimency?"

She frowned at the question. "Not bad. Why?"

"I noticed that you managed to push really hard with your magic," I replied. "If I didn't know Occlumency or if you weren't so tired, I think you might have won. If you teach me Legilimency, I'll teach you Occlumency. Besides, it might help you refine your technique."

She mulled over the idea for a moment. "I'll think on it," she replied, standing up. "Good night."

"Good night," I replied.

I hadn't expected her to agree immediately, but I thought she would, sooner rather than later. She was too interested in improving herself not to.


	6. Sleet and Hail

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: This chapter is short, yes. And where chapter 5 was _easyawesomefun_ to write, this one was hard. Still, I think it turned out ok. Thanks to Plothole and OntheImportanceofLungs for corrections, and thanks to DarkShadowPhoenix for catching a continuity error.**

* * *

Performing a barrel roll to avoid an incoming bludger, I spat a feather out of my mouth. "Bloody birds."

The snitch had disappeared, of course. Our beaters were doing a very good job of keeping me occupied.

Letting the soft edges of the wind pull at me, I eased up and began the Streitscoff scanning pattern.

By the time I had spotted the snitch again, the rest of the team was grumbling. Pulling into a sharp dive, I caught the fluttering yellow ball with little fanfare; the beaters had been occupied with the chasers at that moment.

Landing with a soft 'thump', I motioned to the other players. As they descended, I heard a bellow, "You losing your touch, Potter?"

Marcus Flint, left chaser, my year. He had obtained the coveted spot of Quidditch Captain and guarded it jealously. However, I had no intention of trying to wrest the position from him unless I failed to secure the Head Boy-ship next year, not having the free time to juggle the two.

I flipped him off and turned to Jules Yokav, seventh-year Keeper. "Catch."

I threw him the immobilized snitch and started making my way to the showers. By the time he had caught up to me, I was already stripping my outer robes off. "Maybe Flint was right?"

I blinked at him in confusion. He continued without missing a beat. "I mean, it did take you two hours to catch the thing."

I shrugged at him in irritation. "It doesn't always go perfectly, Jules. I'm sure you know that."

Yokav picked up on the undertone and the familiar mode of address, bristling. In an impressive feat of control, he managed to calm himself. "Ah, whatever. It happens. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, anyways."

"Yeah?" I asked, curiosity rearing its head.

"I was wondering if you had any good references for ritual preparation?" he inquired, hanging up his robes.

I continued undressing, pretending to think about the question. I did, in fact, have a good book on ritual preparations, but I doubted he was asking me because he actually wanted that book. Snape would have been more than happy to oblige, provided the book was in the Restricted section (it was), given our team's recent string of victories. So, more likely, he wanted to know whether I had access to and was interested in such information myself. Why?

"I'm afraid not, Yokav," I replied, giving him a slight grin. "But I'm sure if you ask Professor Snape, he'll be able to tell you where to find one."

"No problem," he shrugged, stepping into the showers.

As I made my way back to the common room, I debated between talking to Professor Snape or the Headmaster regarding the suspicious nature of my House-mates questionings.

However, the decision was taken out of my hands as soon as I stepped inside.

"Potter," one of the fifth-years waved me over. "Professor Snape wants to talk to you in his office."

"Sure," I nodded. Reversing my course, I wondered what he could have to say to me. Surely he had not already noticed my problem, and for whatever reason decided to take it into his own hands?

Entering Snape's office, I noticed Riddle sitting in front of his desk, looking bored. She turned to me and I quirked an eyebrow. She gave a minute shrug and I nodded.

So. She didn't know what was going on either.

Snape swept in from the back room to find me standing there. "Come. The Headmaster has requested our presence."

Perhaps this was about the aversion charm, I thought.

We made our way to the Headmaster's office in silence. "Blood pops," Snape told the stone gargoyle, and it stepped aside to allow us entrance. As we reached the top of the stairs, I heard Dumbledore's voice say from inside his office, "Come in, Severus."

Snape walked into Dumbledore's office, Riddle and I following close behind.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, putting away the document he had been working on. "Please, have a seat." He conjured several chairs in front of his desk.

"Are you ready to fix the aversion charm?" the Headmaster asked.

I nodded, mirrored by Riddle. Snape looked on from the side, gaze shuttered.

"Very well," he said, and his wand appeared in his hand. Without any warning, he pointed it Riddle and drew a line toward me. I felt a tingle of magic and blinked. "That's it?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured with a small smile. "The solution proved easier than I expected. Now, do you have any questions for me? Any concerns you would like to bring up?"

Then I remembered what I had wanted to ask him, and decided now was the best time, since Professor Snape was here too. "Yes, actually, Headmaster. After Quidditch practice today, Yokav asked me if I knew any good books on ritual preparation."

I hesitated, and the Headmaster motioned for me to continue. "Well, I told him I didn't, but I don't think he was actually interested in the material so much as whether _I_ knew about it. Not to mention that this is the second time in a week when one of my House-mates has asked me something outside of Quidditch or homework."

I felt Snape's eyes boring into me at that, and gave a bitter chuckle. "That's more than they've asked in the last year, Headmaster, in case you were wondering."

The Headmaster gave me an inscrutable glance. "You believe that somebody is fishing for information."

I nodded. The obvious answer of _who_ was left unsaid.

"I will look into it, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore assured me. "In the meantime, continue to deflect such inquiries. The less information our opponent has, the better."

"Of course, Headmaster," I gave my confirmation.

"If that is all, there is something I would like to discuss with Professor Snape," the Headmaster said, a clear dismissal.

I glanced at Riddle and we left the Headmaster's office.

* * *

"The Room," was all Riddle said as she tugged on my sleeve.

I gave her a bemused glance and followed. This must have been something serious if she thought that ordinary privacy measures were not enough.

We made our way up to the Room of Requirements and I stood back and watched while Riddle paced in front of the wall. A door appeared and she opened it, gesturing me inside.

I walked in to find a miniature version of the Slytherin common room and sat down at a conveniently-located table. Riddle pulled up a chair across from my own and sat down.

"I asked the Room to block all scrying and tracking charms on us," she started without preamble.

"Okay," I nodded. It certainly seemed like a sensible precaution, even in Hogwarts.

"I don't trust Dumbledore," she said.

"I'm well aware," I shot back, but her first statement made much more sense in that context.

She ignored my interruption. "He might, in fact, _look into it_, but I'm sure you realize that he won't tell us anything unless absolutely necessary."

I gave her a serious look. "He trusts me."

Riddle gave me a sardonic smirk. "He doesn't trust _me_."

After a moment, I conceded with a nod. "What do you propose we do?"

She smiled a smile which reminded me that while she was not yet Voldemort, she certainly had the potential. "We do a little bit of interrogation."

We plotted.

* * *

Came Saturday, and I was pacing around the Room waiting for Riddle to come back with our target. She had won the argument of who would go fetch him. All her points were very reasonable, of course, but her argument centered on the fact that she had done "target acquisition" before. While this was reassuring, in a way, it made me wonder when and why she had done this before.

A few minutes later, Riddle backed into the room, wand pointing at a hazy _flickering_,floating in midair.

"That's him?" I asked, and she nodded, dispelling the Disillusionment.

Jules Yokav lay suspended on air, stunned and petrified.

"And nobody saw you?" I pressed as she settled him into a chair.

She shot me an irritated glare. "I know what I'm doing, Potter."

By now, Yokav was sitting down and bound by ropes, head lolling back.

"Illusions?" Riddle prompted. I nodded and moved forward, wand raised.

We had decided that while Riddle would handle both the capture and interrogation, I would handle the disguises. I was better with illusions, and even if somebody extracted the memory from his head they wouldn't get anything useful.

After circling Yokav's eyes, I trailed my wand around my hair, face, and exposed skin, and my Hogwarts and Slytherin emblems.

Repeating the process with Riddle, I paused for a moment and glanced at her chest. She stiffened almost imperceptibly but nodded, and I traced my wand around it as well.

Tapping my throat with my wand, I cast a voice-modification charm, and did the same for Riddle.

"Try it out," I instructed, and the voice that came out of my mouth was an unfamiliar bass.

"How is it?" she asked, and I nodded, satisfied. Her voice was gender-neutral and almost mellifluous, but given the way she would be interrogating Yokav I suspected it would make for a very sinister sound.

Flicking her wand to wake Yokav up, Riddle whispered a "_Confundus_" as he stirred.

"Wha- what's going on?" he slurred as he tried to stand up, but found himself stymied by the ropes tying him down.

"You're just here to answer some questions," Riddle said as she started circling around him.

"I am?" Yokav asked, twisting his head in an effort to keep Riddle in his sights.

"That's right," she let out with a hiss, sliding up behind him. She grabbed his chin and tilted his head up, tracing her wand down his jugular. "You might find it in your best interests to cooperate."

Yokav seemed to come to an awareness of his situation. He glanced around and his lips twisted into a confused frown as his eyes fastened onto me. "What do you want?"

Riddle walked around to face him and stared into his eyes. "What we want is _very_ simple. You will answer some questions - truthfully - and then we let you go. If you don't answer, or if you lie, I start getting creative. First question. Who are you spying on in Hogwarts, and for who?"

Yokav took a deep breath and let it out. "Dumbledore," he whispered. "Snape. Potter. The rest of the Slytherins, too."

"And for _who_?" Riddle asked with a threatening jab of her wand.

He gulped. "My father. He only asked at the start of term, I swear!"

Riddle stunned him with a flash of red light and turned to me. "He has no defenses to speak of and he doesn't know anything incriminating about you. Are we still going with the original plan?"

I twirled my wand between my fingers. "No, I don't think so. For the compulsion, just have him ignore me when I'm around other people and let him report normally. It'll feed off his natural instincts instead of fighting against them, and covers most of our bases anyways. I don't plan on doing anything _incriminating_," I smirked, "alone."

She nodded and pressed her wand against his forehead. "_Compulsius_."

Freeing him from his ropes, Riddle levitated his unconscious form to the door. I stepped outside to keep a look-out. Next to me, Riddle continued securing our safety. "_Rennervate_, _Confundus_, _Obliviate_. You got lost on your way to the common room. You were just heading back there now."

With that, I stepped inside and she shoved him out the door, closing it behind him. "Well, I guess that confirms what we suspected."

Riddle shrugged. "Maybe. We don't know if it's Voldemort pulling the strings, or if his father is having him spy for his own reasons."

"If it was just him, then I'd agree. But he's not the only one keeping tabs on me," I reply.

"True," Riddle says. "Regardless, it's better that we know they're actually spying on you - and by extension me - as opposed to them just sucking up to you. Anyways, we've got some time now. Do you want to start learning Legilimency?"

"Sure," I agreed. A week ago I had asked Riddle to teach me Legilimency in exchange for teaching her Occlumency, and I thought her lack of response meant that she was not interested in my offer. Apparently, I was wrong.

"Sit." Riddle indicated a table that the Room had provided. I pulled up a chair and she sat down across from me. "Now, entering another's mind is actually quite simple, but there are numerous difficulties after the fact. Namely interpreting the information you find and breaking down your opponent's barriers. Once you move onto wandless Legilimency, which is obviously the only method worth anything outside of sustained interrogations, splitting your focus between Legilimency and carrying on a conversation also becomes a concern."

She stared at me for a moment. "You know the incantation. Push forward and go with the spell the first time, we'll refine your technique afterward."

I felt a hint of nervousness, but took her invitation nonetheless. I drew my wand and pointed it at her. "_Legilimens_."

I felt myself rushing forward on a string of magic and a sudden dissociation seized me, where I was in my body but _not_, and I was surrounded by a hazy film of emotions and thoughts not my own. Wariness, anticipation, (_what does he see?_), and a slight wonder at-

I jerked back and found myself still learning forward, staring into Riddle's eyes.

"Well?" she whispered. "What did you see?"

I leaned back, the situation suddenly uncomfortable. "I didn't go looking, so nothing. Just... what you felt. Maybe I should be teaching you the basics of Occlumency first, so we can both learn at the same time."

Something in her eyes shifted and she nodded, the tension dissipating.

She sat back, all business. "Teach me."

* * *

I laid back on my bed and tried to banish the gnawing emptiness that had settled in my chest. This sudden depression confused me - by all rights, the day had been a success. Dumbledore had fixed the aversion charm, we had confirmed that I was being spied on, and Riddle proved a remarkably quick study with Occlumency. Not that I was surprised, mind, given her talent with Legilimency. I just couldn't help but feel a little bit of envy at her talent - was she really that good at _everything_?

And then I realized where the depression was coming from and sat up. Shrugging on my robes, I wondered why Riddle was so depressed that I could feel it so strongly. Hopefully it was something I could help her with; I rather wanted to get to sleep soon.

Striding into the common room, I found Riddle slumped on the couch in front of the fire. I dropped into a chair across from her. "What's up?"

I repressed the urge to rip out my tongue and vowed never to handle sensitive issues when tired. Clearly, all tact had left me.

Riddle stirred and brushed her sleeve across her face. "What?" Then she saw me and froze. "You- I... I-"

She jumped up, intent to escape clear on her face.

I grabbed her hand, and she let out a stuttering half-laugh, half-gasp.

"You need to talk," I heard myself say. The usual filters between my brain and mouth had been torn down by the emotions rampaging in from her side of the bond. I briefly considered putting them back up, but decided that it didn't matter at this point.

She squeezed my hand so hard I lost feeling in my fingers, still facing away from me.

"Tomorrow," she whispered. "I- tomorrow."

She let go of my hand, and I stood there, stunned, as she walked into her dormitory.

Lost in the trainwreck of my mind, I went back to my room. Absently, I raised my hand - now tingling with returning blood flow - and sniffed it. I couldn't smell anything except confusion and despair, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

Collapsing into my bed, I let the broken emptiness bear me down to sleep.

* * *

I shifted in the plush chair and brought her closer to me. She sighed and her breath tickled against my collarbone as she lifted her head from my shoulder and turned away. I let it lie, the sleeping dragon in the room, but we both knew we couldn't put it off forever.

We sat and shared the warmth of close comfort for a moment, and she turned her head back to me.

I looked into her eyes, looked... looked from her eyes, at myself (_myself?_), and I felt a small note of confusion as he traced a finger down my jawline. The confusion was wiped away by the steadiness of his body against mine, and I felt my breath catch as he leaned in and I shot upright in my bed.

I suffered a brief moment of hazy panic and confusion before reassuring myself that I was _I _(_myself_), and I dropped back into bed with a limp flop and fell asleep.


	7. Cloud Cover

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter isn't mine.

**A/N:** This chapter has been in progress for more than a month, for which you can blame my post-summer break. I write more when classes are in session, oddly enough. There are only three more chapters and an interlude to go! Maybe an epilogue as well, but just maybe. Future updates will probably be bi-weekly, though I'm aiming to finish the story by the end of month.

* * *

When I awoke, I was _still_ myself. This reassured me for a moment until I remembered _why_ I was worried. Then I remembered that last night had, in fact, happened, which was worrying, and last night's dream, if that's what it was, had also happened and that was worrying in an entirely different way.

A quick shower and change of robes later and I felt marginally more ready to tackle the task of the day: finding Riddle and figuring out what was going on. She wasn't at breakfast, but this didn't surprise me. I would have to search for her, much like she had searched for me a month ago.

I had been wandering around the halls for nearly an hour before I realized that whatever I was doing wasn't working. Riddle had never taken longer than thirty minutes to find me whenever I tried to hide from her. It had only stopped after I had started using Occlumency to block off our bond, and now I _definitely_ needed to find her. The last thing she should have been doing with Occlumency was repressing whatever emotional turmoil she was going through, but I hadn't warned her of the potential side-effects when I was teaching her.

I didn't know any tracking spells, but I didn't think that they would work anyways. I had something better: I knew what Riddle's magic felt like. I spread out tendrils of my own, reaching as far as I could without overwhelming myself. Twenty minutes later, I noticed a locking charm bearing her signature and followed my nose, as it were.

I flicked my wand at the door and threaded apart the locking spell holding it closed. Stepping inside, I saw Riddle at an empty desk, face expressionless. "What do you want?"

Sitting down, I turned to face her. "You're occluding improperly."

"What does that mean?" she asked, voice toneless.

"I suppose it's my fault that I didn't warn you," I replied. "But I didn't think that you'd actually learned enough to be able to do it. You're using Occlumency barriers to repress your emotions instead of going through the meditation. That doesn't actually get rid of them. It just means that when you let your barriers down, your emotions rebound more strongly than you would have felt them originally." I seized upon a sudden intuition. "Like yesterday night."

She shot me an inscrutable glance. "Can't I simply keep the barriers up?"

I shook my head slowly. "Eventually, they'd collapse under the strain. You'd probably go into shock." I didn't press her for her motivations. I wouldn't get anything out of her while she was occluding.

She stared at me for a moment. "Is there a safe way to lower the barriers?"

I shrugged. "Slowly. That way you don't deal with the full impact all at once. Maybe a Calming Draught would help too. There's no short-cut for dealing with this sort of thing."

Riddle nodded and appeared to consider my answer. Her lips parted as if to ask a question, but she hesitated. "Will you... assist me?"

"Of course I will." The answer tumbled from me without conscious thought, and a small part of me wondered for a moment why I was helping her - she had gotten herself into this mess, after all. The larger part chided me with a flash of shame and guilt. I had taught her the skill, it had been my responsibility to teach her safe use of it as well.

"Let's go." I motioned for her to follow me.

As we approached the dungeons, Riddle spoke up. "We are not doing this in the dorms or common room, surely?"

"No," I replied. "I'm just getting the Calming Draught."

She acquiesced with a small nod, and I retrieved the potion from my trunk. Coming back out of the dorm, I headed for the Room of Requirements.

"Do you feel any strain on your barriers?" I questioned while we walked.

Looking to my side, I saw Riddle's eyes glaze over slightly. After a moment, she answered. "There is a mild pressure."

I frowned. "I'm hardly an expert, and normally I'd say that's good... but your reaction last night was rather severe. And that was only a couple hours after our lesson." I sighed. "Well, at least we're more prepared this time."

I opened the Room and saw a miniature version of the Slytherin common room, with just one couch in front of the fire. Sitting down, I let the warmth of the fire wash over me. A moment later, Riddle sat down next to me.

I handed her the Calming Draught and she downed it without a word. A haze started to encroach upon my mind, but I boxed it in. I couldn't afford to be affected while Riddle was suffering from Occlumentic backlash.

"Are you ready?" I asked. She nodded.

"Alright, then. Start lowering the inside barriers one at a time. Once you adjust to all the emotions behind that barrier, do the next one," I instructed.

To my surprise, she lowered the barriers blocking our connection first. It felt, for lack of a better analogy, like my sinuses clearing suddenly. I thought for a second that she had misinterpreted what I meant by "inside barriers". Then I realized that she was doing this to further cushion the impact of the backlash. That was rather... devious, but I could not say I was surprised. On the other hand, it was exposing a weakness, though I supposed Riddle had decided I would keep her secrets.

She started lowering the barriers repressing her emotions, and I saw her jaw clench and body tense.

"Breathe," I advised. She nodded, relaxing herself with deliberate forcefulness.

"Whenever you're ready for the next one," I said, leaning in slightly. She glanced at me, then turned back to the fire. Her eyes went glassy and her body rigid, and I felt the trickle of sharp despair creep in through the fog of the Calming Draught.

"Easy," I whispered, and she snorted, clearly in pain and just as clearly keeping it all to herself. "No, seriously. You can hurt yourself like this, and I don't want to explain to either Snape or Madame Pomfrey what we were doing."

She gave me a dirty glare and exhaled noisily, but took a moment of rest.

"I'm fine," she said, gathering herself. "Is it just going to keep getting harder?"

I shrugged. "It depends on what you put away first, I guess."

She blinked at me and then got ready to lower what I assumed were her final barriers.

A moment later, she let out a harsh pant and pitched forward, and I felt a vicious spike of _something_ cut into me. Alarmed, I shunted the emotions aside and reached forward to stop Riddle from falling off the couch, grabbing her shoulder. I noticed her shivering lightly. Then I felt a wave of bliss and realized that it was simply the cessation of the aching in mind I had been ignoring.

I noticed that the barriers I had been using to keep out the Calming Draught had fallen and debated putting them back up again, but Riddle distracted me by curling into my side and letting out a shuddering breath.

My mind went blank for a moment, trying to find an appropriate response, but the only thing I could grab onto was the vague euphoria filling me with a heavy warmth and the feeling of Riddle's hair tickling against my chin.

I drifted away with the scent of happiness.

* * *

I woke to a soft weight pressing down on me. I was lying on a wide mattress of unknown origins, tangled in yesterday's robes. Blinking, I tilted my head down to find Riddle sleeping on top of me.

Dropping my head with a soft _thump_, I wondered how I was going to explain this away. The whole thing had been an accident, but I was sure that Riddle would assign some motivation to me. I closed my eyes and sank into thought for a few moments. Alright, I had to admit that I was enjoying myself, but I truly was trying to figure out a way out of my predicament. Riddle's surprisingly feminine form on mine wasn't helping my concentration any.

Often times I had trouble remembering that Riddle was a girl, given how differently she acted from the average Hogwarts female. But then again, I never had much use for the average Hogwarts female anyways.

As soon as I processed that thought, Riddle began to stir. I froze up, then realized what a bad idea that was. Relaxing my breathing, I allowed myself to go limp. A moment later, I felt Riddle lift her head from my shoulder.

I felt her scrutinizing me through our bond and dampened everything coming from my side. Time stretched out as I lay unmoving. Finally, I felt the pressure recede as she leaned up, but suppressed my relief as I noted her hovering above me.

Her fingers brushed across my face, tracing my nose, cheekbones, and jawline in turn. I decided to put my foot down when she started on my lips. Feigning a yawn, I blinked my eyes and adopted a befuddled expression, hoping she wouldn't pay too much attention to the attendant mental state.

Her deer-in-the-headlights look lasted for only a moment before she donned an unapologetic expression. "Finally awake?"

"Dunno," I murmured. "Surely you would only do that in a dream?"

Her eyes flashed with fury before she realized I was teasing her. "You - you _bastard_! I can't believe you would make light of something like this!"

"Oh, come on," I protested, giving our positions a significant once-over. "This just _begs_ to be made light of."

She jumped off the bed, radiating indignation, and made to leave the room.

"You need to lighten up a bit," I grumbled, but stood up behind her and projected a feeling of apology.

She stopped and snorted, turning to face me. "Well? Are we actually going to do this?"

I turned my gaze away. "I'd like to. But it's going to cause no end of trouble."

"Neither of us are strangers to trouble," she replied.

"True," I shrugged, "but it's not what people think and say so much as what they'll try to do about it."

She stepped firmly into my personal space, took my face in her hands, and turned it toward her. "And are you," she whispered, "going to let them?"

"No," I whispered back, leaning in-

The door slammed open, and we both jerked backwards.

Dumbledore stood in the doorway, an expression of near-panic on his face until he saw us. He lowered his wand, which I noticed had been humming with restrained power. "I am glad to see that you are both safe, but I must ask you to come with me."

"What's wrong, Headmaster?" I inquired, and drew my wand. Anything that had Dumbledore panicked was not something I wanted to face unarmed.

He let out a sigh and glanced toward Riddle, who was flanking my right shoulder. "Voldemort has risen again."

I stiffened. "Shit." Riddle's disgust and hatred washed over me like bile rising in the back of my throat.

"Quickly, now," the Headmaster urged, and we followed him to his office.

Professor Snape was already seated when we walked in. His eyes swept over me and narrowed as he saw Riddle enter the room. "Headmaster, are you sure this is wise-"

Dumbledore held up a hand and Professor Snape quieted. "One moment, please."

We all took our seats and the Headmaster flicked his wand. I felt the familiar _shift_ in the air, but the sensation was much keener - I could feel the layered spells activating, some of them familiar, but most of them not. I could only assume this was a result of my practice with raw magic.

"Now, Severus, I believe you have some concerns?" the Headmaster asked. Snape nodded and Dumbledore continued. "Very well, with your consent, Miss Riddle - very good. Miss Riddle has sworn vows of secrecy and non-aggression, the specific wording is rather long and we frankly do not have the time right now. Additionally, she may be able to provide some valuable insights. If that is all?"

"Quite," Professor Snape said.

"Excellent," Dumbledore replied. "This is a council of war, and we can have no doubts about what must be done. Voldemort must be eliminated as soon as possible - her method of resurrection has left her weak for a time and it would be foolish not to take advantage of that fact. However, we still have the matter of the horcruxes to consider. The diary is no longer a concern, Mr. Potter assured that the locket was taken care of, and I secured the diadem with Miss Riddle's knowledge. This leaves three - Peverell's ring, Hufflepuff's cup, and I believe Voldemort has turned her snake into one as well. Miss Riddle, you said that the ring would be at the Gaunt house?"

She nodded. "I had meant to leave it there."

"We will secure it later, then. I suspect with your assistance, bypassing the wards will be simple," Dumbledore said. "The cup I will obtain alone. Interviews with imprisoned Death Eaters and some careful Legilimency have led me to believe that it resides in Bellatrix LeStrange's vault. I have no doubt that I can enter her vault, secure her cup, and leave undetected, but anybody else will be an unnecessary complication. The snake..." A frown crossed his face. "I cannot imagine a method of separating it from Voldemort, now that it is a horcrux. We will have to destroy it when we attack Voldemort's resting place."

"If I may, Headmaster," Snape interjected. "I could attempt to secure an audience with the Dark Lady under the pretense of bringing her valuable information. I doubt she would react fast enough to stop a killing curse from striking the snake - she would protect herself first and foremost, suspecting betrayal."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Something to consider, certainly, but it would likely result in your death. Using whatever trust she has for you during the battle itself might allow you to sneak away and kill the snake without rousing suspicions."

I gathered my thoughts and spoke up. "Headmaster... the way you're framing this makes it seem like you'll be occupied with something else during the battle. Aren't you going to be helping us take down Voldemort?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Alas, Harry, circumstances conspire against us. Tell me, have you and Miss Riddle been practicing duelling? Yes? And the technique I provided you with? Indeed. Now, I suspect that with Miss Riddle focusing exclusively on cancelling Voldemort's spells while you attack her directly, the pair of you would prove more than a match for Voldemort. Now, imagine this situation in your mind - it is clear to her that you are employing an unknown magic and managing to slowly overpower her. She will flee, apparating away to another safe house to recover and research what magic you were using. Books on the subject are rare, but with her followers' resources, she will find it eventually, and a significant advantage will be lost. Now, _my_ task will be two-fold - to prevent other Death Eaters from interfering and to prevent Voldemort from escaping. Frankly, the Death Eaters have no hope of overpowering me - at most, they can become a nuisance. However, maintaining an anti-apparition field of enough strength to keep Voldemort from escaping will be no easy task, and the Death Eaters along with that will require most of my attention. I will, perhaps, be able to assist you after all the Death Eaters have been incapacitated, but I am confident in your ability to defeat her."

I shifted in my seat. Personally, _I_ was not at all confident in our ability to defeat Voldemort - we were but a pair of sixth-year students, however talented, and she had decades of experience on us. Her temporary weakness would help, but the entire plan hinged on Riddle being fast enough and strong enough to shut down almost _everything_ that Voldemort threw at us. I felt Riddle agree with my hesitation.

The Headmaster ran a hand along his beard. "I see that you are still not comfortable with this. Very well - you shall test yourselves against me. I am slightly more skilled than Voldemort, and, well," he fingered his wand, "more powerful as well. If the two of you can hold your own against me, then I am sure that you will be able to defeat her. We will spend the next week preparing, strategizing, and retrieving the available horcruxes. Accept no unknown mail and eat in the kitchens when at all possible. I believe that concludes our meeting."

* * *

Hogwarts seemed empty, despite the wandering students in the halls. My anxiety was like a bitter herb, polluting everything and impossible to ignore. Riddle's presence by my side kept me steady, but just barely. Reality seemed fuzzy around the edges, and I gratefully collapsed as the Room of Requirements created a large, plush armchair.

Riddle slid down next to me, brushing against my side. The world drifted back into focus, piece by piece, and a few minutes later, I cleared my throat. "That was unpleasant." My voice was rough, but I was just glad that my brief panic attack was over. Perhaps I should have been expecting this, been on guard, but everything had been getting _better_, and I turned away from that line of thought before the bitterness rose up.

I tilted my head to look at Riddle, who was staring at the far wall, lost in thought. Her thoughts and emotions were a tangle that I hesitated to unravel, but she noticed my attention and nudged me gently in the side.

I nudged her back. "You alright?"

"Yes," she replied, and indeed she appeared fine, not at all like she had suffered the bleed-off from a mild panic attack just moments ago. Maybe she was just better at hiding it.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "So. Advantages. What do we have apart from the skill?"

Riddle withdrew her wand from her robes and held it out for my examination. Puzzled, I tried to figure out what was so special about her wand. It was longer than my own, perhaps about thirteen inches, and made of yew - "Is that _your_ wand?"

Riddle looked nonplussed for a moment before she deciphered my true meaning, then nodded. "This is indeed the wand that chose me originally."

"How did you get it?" I asked. I had never thought about the fate of Voldemort's wand after her body had been destroyed in Godric's Hollow.

"Dumbledore had it; he said that one of Voldemort's followers retrieved my wand following her downfall," she replied.

I blinked. "And he just _gave_ it to you?" As much as I would have liked to believe the best about the Headmaster, I knew that he didn't trust Riddle - perhaps for what he believed were good reasons.

"Well," she said, "he had to grant me _some_ concession for not trying to work around his Vows." Riddle shook her head, and a bit of humor entered her tone. "He's not very subtle, to be honest. It was fairly clear what he meant by the gesture."

I snorted. _Power games_.

"I have to admit that while adjusting to a new wand may be something of a handicap, I don't believe it will be much of a detriment," she continued, much more serious.

"Yeah," I agreed, but I was only half-listening. My mind was chewing over an idea, one that could prove to be a significant advantage. "Did you know that I faced Voldemort at the end of last year? Our Defense Professor was playing host to her spirit."

"Really?" she asked, and I felt her curiosity prying against me. "What happened?"

"She was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone - it was in Gringotts, at first, but Dumbledore managed to secure it before then and hid it in the castle. She tried to kill me once that year, but failed, and Snape decided to take me along with him when he went to stop her host from trying to steal the Stone. It was actually three of us, Flitwick was there too. Anyways, Snape and Flitwick were barely managing to hold her off, but I got in a lucky shot with the Blood Noose. Turns out my mother left me a blood protection against Voldemort when she died, and my blood burned the host to death," I answered.

"So blood-based spells are effective against her?" Riddle questioned.

"Yes, though for obvious reasons I can't use too many of them." I shrugged. "Something to consider, at any rate."

She slumped against my side, giving up all pretense of composure. "So that's all we have? A slight wand-match handicap and a small subset of limited-use spells that are more effective _if_ they hit her?"

"Well," I said, voice dry, "not to put too fine a point on it, but there are two of us, and I suspect we'll complement each other in a duel quite well."

She shifted closer and whispered in my ear, "I think we can complement each other in more than that."

Her hand, which had been inching its way up the front of my robes, stroked the side of my neck. I let out a sharp breath at the unexpected pleasure of the sensation, and quivered between the conflicting impulses to push her away from the vulnerable area and to bare my neck and allow her to continue exploring.

She took the choice out of my hands when she slid her hand up into my hair, pulled me down, and claimed my mouth with her own.


	8. Waterspout

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Bit short, but I like this chapter a lot. Started yesterday and finished today, so you get it a day early! Fracture Ch. 3 will be done either tomorrow or Thursday. So yeah, read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

Kissing Riddle was almost everything I'd imagined it to be, but having expectations and having _experiences_ were entirely different things. She was demanding, always attempting to take control at the most inopportune moments, and she wasn't afraid of playing dirty to get me to slip up. It was almost like a game for her, but I understood the need to turn everything into a dominance struggle.

"Harry?" I jerked in my seat and replaced the silly grin etched on my face with an appropriately contrite expression.

"Sorry, Headmaster," I said. Next to me, Riddle gave a discreet snort.

"Quite alright," he assured me patiently. I wasn't certain, but I thought that he knew of our relationship. And approved, which was disconcerting. "As I was saying, we must be ready to move for the ring as soon as I return from retrieving the cup. I am not expecting this to be particularly time-consuming or dangerous, but I cannot claim to know of all the defenses of Gringotts. If, by some off-chance, I am unable to return with the cup in a timely manner, I have left several sources of backup information behind." He gave the phoenix perched on the desk a fond smile.

"At any rate," he continued in a breezy tone, "these are unlikely eventualities. Let us discuss our steps in obtaining entrance to the Gaunt's home. There will be wards there, of course, but as for bypassing them..."

Riddle picked up the hint. "I'd probably key them to my magical signature. Impossible to _fake_, in theory. Based on the timeline we made, I probably built the wards during the summer before my seventh year. While I probably would have improved on them later, I doubt I would have torn them down completely and started over."

Dumbledore nodded. "Good. If that is the case, then allowing us entry with you should be a simple task. I am afraid that beyond that, we will have to make it up as we go along. Fortunately," he chuckled, "I am good at improvising."

"Headmaster," I spoke up. "Shouldn't we have measures in place in case of an... accident?"

Dumbledore sobered up. "You are both capable of apparating, but that may not be enough. I will create portkeys - hopefully, we will not need them."

The Headmaster rose. "I will make the portkeys now, and will leave for Gringotts immediately. I will be back within two hours. If am not, Fawkes will find you. If Fawkes does not find you, then Professor Snape will. Be ready at the front gates."

We took the dismissal for what it was and left the office.

An hour later, we were sitting together in the Room of Requirements, engaged in our thoughts. The same creeping nervousness that had assaulted me after Dumbledore revealed Voldemort's return was thrumming, making me nauseous. I pushed it down as best as I could. Caution would help during the mission, but nerves would just make me twitchy.

"What should I call you?" I asked, trying to stop my thoughts from racing in circles.

Riddle blinked, coming out of her own musings. "Beg pardon?"

I shrugged. "I mean, Riddle is your surname, and Tom is, well..."

She narrowed her eyes. "If you start calling me by a _pet name_, I'll do something painful and humiliating."

I shook my head, ignoring the casual threat. "That's not what I meant. You don't call me Potter anymore, do you?"

She draped herself across me. "No, but I don't call you Harry, either. We don't need to use anything as crude as verbal communication to get each other's attention."

I considered this, then gasped as she started doing something _very_ distracting to the nape of my neck.

"Now, we only have an hour before we go off to do something very, very deadly, so let's make the best use of it."

I wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

An hour later, we stood at the front gates, awaiting the Headmaster's return. The air shimmered with our magic, which had gotten rather excited in the last hour. I considered trying to tame it, but decided the extra sensitivity it gave me could be advantageous. Some time later, when I was starting to get worried, Dumbledore appeared a few meters away in a flash of fire.

He held a gleaming cup in one hand, and Fawkes' tailfeathers in the other. His robes were singed in places, but his expression was cheerful. "Well, that went relatively well. I do not believe anybody suspects that anything has happened, but we will proceed with haste nonetheless. It should only take me a few minutes to deal with this."

Another flash of flame saw Dumbledore disappear. When he returned, his robes were in pristine condition. "Now that the cup has been dealt with, are you ready to depart?"

"Yes, Headmaster," I replied, echoed by a nod from Riddle.

"Very well," he said, and stretched out his arms. "Grab an arm each, please. Fawkes, if you please?"

Light and heat overtook me before I settled into my new surroundings. We stood in a clearing, surrounded by a dense bush. An overgrown path led to a dilapidated shack, which I recognized from the memories Dumbledore had shown me. Riddle recognized it too, if the bitterness I felt from her was any indication. I felt the press of the wards even from this distance, with sharp edges that I had no doubt were more deadly than any knife or sword.

We gathered our bearings for a moment, and Dumbledore raised his wand. The air hummed with his power, powerful and pure. "Miss Riddle, if you are able, attempt to imitate me."

Her eyes slid out of focus as she concentrated, and she raised her wand as Dumbledore let his fall. A second later the air was filled with her magic, heady and familiar. I felt what would best be described as a click, as if a key had been turned in a lock. "That's it?" I asked.

"I believe so," Dumbledore replied. "I must say, that was much easier than tearing down the wards would have been. Let us approach, but carefully."

We walked toward the shack, keeping our senses extended, but the wards seemed docile now. Stopping in front of the doorway, Dumbledore seemed to consider something for an instant before nudging the rotting piece of wood open with his foot. The scent of decay increased as we stepped inside. A moment later, I realized that the smell and the feeling of dark, tainted magic were intertwined. I felt a brief chill run through me. The magic seemed so familiar, and yet the twisted _malignancy_ made me want to crush it. Glancing to the side, I realized that the utter revulsion I felt was mostly Riddle's, though I still felt as if somebody had slipped something in my food.

"Quite repulsive, isn't it?" The headmaster's tone was light, but the glacial frost in his eyes made clear his disgust at the very notion of such a thing. "I believe the pathway is clear, now, all that remains is to find it."

Riddle's eyes flicked toward a corner in the back of the room, and as I focused I noticed that the magic was indeed coming from there. She made to step forward, but the Headmaster held up a hand and she stopped without a word.

Dumbledore raised his wand and made a sweeping motion, dispelling a glamour that had been hiding a pedestal. On top of the pedestal lay a gold ring, inset with a dark stone.

I stepped forward to get a closer look - there was an inscription on the stone, and I was interested in seeing what it was. Besides, it was _mine_ (_MINE_) -

Jerking to a stop, I drew my wand and swung my head around. That had _not _been me, which meant -

Riddle was inching toward the ring, possessiveness shining through her features. Dumbledore trailed next to her with a mournful expression, but it was clear that his goal was also the ring, which I _wanted so badly_.

With an angry snarl, I slashed my wand in front of me, attempting to sever the coaxing pull of the compulsion spell that had sunk its claws into me. It was stronger than I had expected, and smarter too, trying to convince me that I was paranoid, that I was overreacting, but I pressed on and the thread snapped.

I dropped to my knees with a gasp of pain as the magical backlash tore into my brain like a coil of barbed wire. Struggling to my feet, I noticed that Riddle had faltered and seemed to be fighting the compulsion as well, but Dumbledore continued on, oblivious.

I doubted that I could break the compulsion binding the Headmaster, as my efforts to free myself had left me with a blinding headache. So I did the only thing I could think of to gather more time - I shot a stunner at him.

Dumbledore whirled around, quick as thought, and batted the spell away. His gaze was sad, yet determined. "I am sorry, Harry, but I cannot allow you to impede me."

Bloody fuck.

The compulsion must have been been impeding him, because the Headmaster led off with a volley of stunners which I dodged and blocked. They were of incredible power, though - the one I blocked nearly blew through my shield. I peppered him quick jinxes and hexes in a desperate attempt to stall for time.

Seeing that I wouldn't go down so easily, Dumbledore started shooting more serious sleeping and binding spells at me. I sidestepped one and deflected another - trying to block one of these would be stupid, given the way they made the air ripple as they passed nearby.

I banished a rotting chair at the Headmaster, and swept my wand arm in a windmill while he was distracted. A tremor went through the shack, and the Headmaster's gaze snapped to me. He sent a spell at me, and for a moment I was taken off-guard - _this_ curse I recognized, it was the Locked Paralysis curse that Quirrel had sent at me last year. But it was a Dark curse, and surely Dumbledore had other means of subduing me?

I smirked, reached out with my magic and _caught_ the curse on the tip of my wand. I sent it back at him with a contemptuous flick. The Headmaster blocked it, frustration clearly evident, only to find a gigantic ball of dust rocketing toward him. I had collected and enchanted the dust from the house while Dumbledore had been dealing with my banished chair, and I had made good use of the ambient magic surrounding us in its creation.

It seemed that I had underestimated him, though, as he simply twirled his wand and collapsed the enchantments on the ball. Of course, the bindings that had held the dust together were also gone, and Dumbledore found himself in a dust cloud. Taking the opportunity, I shot off as many spells as I could. It was all for naught, though, as a second later there was no dust, and there were no spells.

Across from me stood a truly furious Dumbledore, and the power that I had thought so pure outside had grown fangs and claws, prickling against my skin. The world paused for a moment, as if some giant beast were taking a breath, and Dumbledore simply pointed his wand at me and spoke a word.

A rope shot out of it, but I could feel the magic from _here_, and I knew I had no hope of blocking or dispelling this. Moving quickly, I coated myself in magic and fire, bound two together, and hoped that my improvisational _Fiendfyre_ would stave off the spell and not burn me to a crisp at the same time.

The rope wound around me, but I could feel its magic and mine fighting, tearing at each other. For a moment, blank shock showed on Dumbledore's face that I wasn't fully bound before the rope disappeared and the Headmaster slumped to the ground.

Behind him stood Riddle, her wand outstretched. I slumped against the wall and coughed up the dust that I had inhaled. Then I sneezed, and noticed that blood speckled my hand. Riddle walked over to me and whispered a spell, and my breathing eased.

"Well," I rasped, "that could have gone better."

"We were not careful enough, it seems," Riddle said, eyeing the destruction of the cabin.

I gave the ring a wary glance, but it didn't seem capable of renewing the compulsion once it had been broken. I gestured toward the stunned form of the Headmaster. "Help me break the compulsion on him?"

She nodded, and I carefully stretched out my magic toward Dumbledore. Riddle's magic mingling with mine dulled the lightning-hot needle flashes of pain that were assaulting me. Together, we gently pried the compulsion off him, deciding that it would be better if he wasn't suffering from a headache as well.

A minute later, we were done and Riddle revived the Headmaster. His eyes blinked open and he drew himself to his feet. Looking around, he frowned. "My apologies, Harry. That was much more subtle than something I would have expected from Voldemort. We should finish our business here quickly and depart." He conjured a small glass box and a white handkerchief. Striding over to the pedestal, he picked up the ring with the handkerchief and put in the box, then called for Fawkes. "Ready?" Riddle and I grasped an arm each and nodded, and a flash of fire found us standing in the Headmaster's office.

We dropped into hastily conjured chairs, while Dumbledore reached into his desk and withdrew a wide vial of some clear, viscous fluid. Tapping the cap with his wand, he took the ring from his robes and dropped it through the now-permeable cap. The ring dissolved with a shrill whine on the edge of hearing, leaving behind only the inset stone.

My mind chugged along and made the obvious connections. "Is that basilisk venom?"

Dumbledore glanced up with a satisfied expression on his face. "Indeed it is."

"Why has the stone not dissolved?" Riddle asked, looking up.

A small smile crossed the Headmaster's face for a moment. "This," he said, levitating the stone out of the vial, somehow dry, "is the Resurrection Stone."

I choked and sent an incredulous look at Riddle, who wore an expression of confusion. "You found the Resurrection Stone and you didn't even _know_ about it?"

She glared at me, and turned to the Headmaster, but the stress of the fight had caught up to me and I started giggling helplessly.

"The Resurrection Stone," Dumbledore said over my laughter, "is one of the three fabled Deathly Hallows as described by Beedle the Bard. The other two are the Elder Wand and the Cloak of Invisibility. They are items of legend, and none today are capable of making such things, though I find it unlikely that they truly came from Death. Death is not a being but a lack of being..." He sighed. "At any rate, basilisk venom does not dissolve it. _Fiendfyre_ would not burn it, I suspect, and the Killing Curse would not leave a mark. Just as creating them is beyond us, destroying them is equally impossible."

Riddle was looking at the stone with some reverence now. We sat around for a few moments, digesting the events of the day, when Dumbledore broke the silence. "I must say, Harry, I am very impressed with how you handled yourself against me today. While I was rather handicapped, you nonetheless fought admirably. Your creativity does you credit."

I smiled. "The dustball, sir? I figured you wouldn't have enough time to vanish the dust if you tried to break the enchantments."

He chuckled. "Indeed - an effective, if limited tactic. But then I suppose all such tactics are. No, actually, I was referring to your inspired improvisation of _Soulfire_ - never have I seen such a thing! It certainly would have destroyed such a binding had another wizard cast it."

"_Soulfire_, sir?" I asked. I had never even heard of such a thing.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. "You don't even know what it is you _did_?" He burst out in laughter.

I shared a baffled glance with Riddle.

Dumbledore's laughter wound down. "Incredible, truly." Reaching behind him, he took a slim volume from his bookcase and handed it to me. "Read through this tomorrow - I am excusing both of you from classes for the next week, so that I may train you. We will fake an injury... no, perhaps an illness." He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Ah, Harry. I can only hope that I live long enough to see the height of your achievements. I have no doubt that you will surpass me, with time."

I blushed under the praise, but picked up on a train of thought that had been derailed when Dumbledore mentioned _Soulfire_. "Sir, your wand..."

He peered at me over his spectacles and stayed silent. I thought that my suspicion may have been correct. "How long have you had it?"

Dumbledore withdrew his wand and lay it on the table in front of him. "Ever since I won it from Gellert Grindelwald." His eyes strayed to the Resurrection Stone.

I nodded, and let out a yawn. Glancing to the side, I saw that Riddle had fallen asleep.

"Go rest, Harry," Dumbledore dismissed me.

I gathered Riddle in my arms and left the Headmaster to his thoughts.


	9. Lightning Strike, Part Deux

******Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.******  
**

**A/N:** Short chapter, but there's an interlude that comes right after it which will be posted separately in a few days (hopefully). It's separate because it's definitely rated M. From Wikipedia, synesthesia "is a neurologically based condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway."

Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

"_...extremely potent, though it burns not matter but magic itself. For this reason, it is usually of limited combat effectiveness and better suited for other purposes_-" Riddle snorted and shut the book that Dumbledore had given me. "I can think of several ways it would be useful in combat. What an elitist twit. He's probably never even used it."

I chuckled at her condescension. "Yeah, true. It seems to serve incredibly well as a neutralizing agent against any magic that comes into direct contact with you, for example."

She shook her head. "I was thinking more along the lines of breaking down magical defenses - shields, non-anchored wards, and even enchantments."

I made a seesawing motion with my hand. "I don't know about that, actually. It would probably be faster to counter or break those down directly."

Riddle looked about to reply when her eyes snapped to the door. I turned around to see Dumbledore standing there, listening to our budding debate with an expression of appreciation. "Oh, don't stop on my account. Your perspectives are fascinating." He walked over to where we were sitting and pulled up a chair. "Though, Harry, I must say I agree with Miss Riddle in this matter. While knowing how to counter a specific defense is almost always faster than using _Soulfire_, it involves knowing how that defense works. And while you certainly could achieve a broad knowledge of magical defenses, it would take you many years of study and travel - I speak from experience, and even I cannot claim to know _everything_ on the subject. For example, I do not know how to create _Soulfire_ - or did not, rather, until you invented your own method."

I gaped at him. "But, Headmaster, the book -"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "If you finish reading the section of the book dealing with _Soulfire_, you will find that the author provides no method of conjuring the magic itself. I suspect it was written based on an interview with a practitioner capable of the skill, but he would hardly divulge such valuable information for free."

He stood up and the Room expanded around us. "In any case, now is not the time for chit-chat. We have a very limited window of time and it would be foolish not to make use of it."

Riddle and I stood up, and the Room transformed itself into an imitation of a manor's study room - fine carpeting, portraits, a desk with papers, bookshelves, and countless other things that could be transfigured and animated.

We all sprang into action as one. Dumbledore banished a barrage of books at us, and Riddle froze them in midair with a broad stroke of her wand. I banished them back along, but not before bespelling them with The Curse of a Thousand Paper Cuts. I took careful pains to avoid the green-colored spells that the Headmaster was sending my way, meant to imitate killing curses.

Transfiguring a multitude of carpet threads into tiny snakes, I ordered them to attack Dumbledore while Riddle focused on stemming his efforts to incapacitate us.

We were blindsided by a portrait frame from the back, though, and I fell onto my face with a grunt. Rolling away from the steel cables that threatened to crush me, I launched a concussive blast of air and jumped up. My shoulder twinged, and I felt something warm trail down my back.

I stifled a grimace and deflected a much-weakened sleeping spell that Dumbledore sent at me. He finally seemed to notice the snakes, and with an ear-splitting shriek, the fallen books exploded into a maelstrom of flying pages. I quickly found out that they _still_ carried my curse, and with a deft wave of my wand twisted the magic into a transfiguration.

The room was filled with feathers as a horde of angry birds converged on the Headmaster's position. Riddle and I were both bleeding from the cursed paper cuts and I from the portrait.

I felt Riddle prod my thoughts, and chanced a look over at her. She was trailing a finger down a long, thin line of blood that a stray page had left behind, and I wondered why she wanted me to see her injury. Then I blinked as I made the connection and frowned at the idea of such a risky maneuver. Still, it had merit and nothing else seemed to be succeeding.

Dumbledore had fashioned a mesh of a gleaming-white metal out of the flock of birds, and given that it had taken him some significant time to create it, I knew that dispelling it would be beyond my abilities. If it hit either of us, the fight would be over.

Concentrating, I swept my wand over my body and stifled a grunt of pain as I gathered my blood, both fresh and congealing, from my injuries and held it in a small ball in front of me. A flick of my wand separated the blood into glistening slivers, shaped like flattened needles.

The Headmaster launched the mesh at us, and I felt Riddle trying to stop it and failing. It was something specifically attuned to his magic, and she could only slow it down. Ignoring the ache in my shoulder, I held up my wand and pushed it against the reality of the shards of my blood. I transfigured them through and with my magic in them, and they were still my blood but something else, a gleaming scarlet death that would rip flesh from bone if given half a chance.

Banishing them at Dumbledore in a wide arc, I noted with satisfaction that most of the shards passed through the gaps in his mesh unencumbered and felt-

=(.o0O0o.)=

-disoriented as I woke to the sight of Dumbledore standing over me, looking as grave as I've ever seen him. "Harry?"

"I'm fine," I replied through a gummed up mouth, blinking the taste of blood out of my eyes. Shrugging off the lingering synesthesia, I attempted to sit up only to have Riddle pin my shoulder to the ground with a furious glare.

"Idiot," she hissed. "What did you think you were doing?"

"Eh?" I asked, baffled. What was she talking about? For that matter, how... "Oh. Wait, I didn't knock myself out, did I?" Shifting my head, I winced as I felt a bruise forming.

The Headmaster's citrus faded into view. "Alas, Harry, that was my own doing. I'm afraid that the painting might have left a lasting impression on you."

I burned out the urge to cackle with the flames of Riddle's hair, which were dangerously close to burning me as well. "I don't know what it was a picture of," I said, "but it's better than the Gillyweed Jerry and I smoked - wait, oops. You didn't hear that." Clearly, I was still affected by something, and I didn't think it was a bump on the head.

Dumbledore's eyes prodded at my forehead, and I prodded back with an irritated growl. Wafting his concern over me with a few whispered words, he shook his head. "I dare not risk it - Miss Riddle, if you will shift like this, and - ah, quite."

Something touched me and I sneezed, but I calmed as I recognized the feel of her magic, which curled around mine and dumped me onto my face. I shot up with a gasp to find Dumbledore and Riddle watching me, differing shades of concern written on their faces.

"Wow," I rasped. "What the bloody fuck was that?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and what had been concern shifted into a faint disapproval. "That, Harry, was what happens when you use dangerous magic with no practice and little preparation." Then he smiled. "Still, I can hardly fault you for that - much of my time at Hogwarts was spent performing similar experiments. Not usually in combat situations, but nevertheless..." I snorted and he shrugged.

"So," I stretched the word out, "what exactly caused me to, uh..." I waved my hand.

Dumbledore raised a brow in reproach. "Can you not think of it for yourself?"

I ducked my head and pushed my memory back, sliding between the strings of insanity, back to the white mesh and the shards of my blood- "Oh."

"'Oh' indeed, Harry. Whatever gave you the idea to mesh a transfiguration with the force of your own bound magic?" His words were stern, but I felt curiosity leak through the facade.

"I have no idea," I replied, trailing off into a whisper. Existential horror blossomed in me, curling around my throat and stomach as I realized the full implications of what I had done. I had bound my magic to my blood, which was not uncommon in combat-related blood magic, but then I'd had the brilliant idea to transfigure them _together_. Had I let my control slip even a fraction during the transfiguration, the magic could very well have looped back into me and transfigured my own blood into the parody of metal I had created. An agonizing death would have followed in short order. Still, it was a perfect attack against Voldemort - my blood would counter any magical defense she employed, and my magic would rend apart any physical barrier she created.

Frowning, I pushed myself to me feet, and felt remarkably stable. "I didn't let the transfiguration feed back into me - obviously, I'd be dead," I stated, theorizing out loud. Riddle made to interrupt but Dumbledore nodded, and I pressed on. "So then... that means my perceptions were changed by my magic... which, uh, was twisted by the transfiguration?" I finished with a question.

Dumbledore's eyes betrayed a hint of pride as he nodded. "Indeed. Your understanding of deeper magic does you credit, Harry. I trust you have learned your lesson about experimenting without proper forethought, however?"

I grunted an affirmative and collapsed into a chair that the Room conjured for me. I was not quite as recovered as I thought, then. Dumbledore seemed to be thinking along similar lines. "I do not think we will be able to accomplish much else tonight. I leave you in Miss Riddle's care, Harry. Good night." He swept out of the Room with a flourish, humming a tune.

My attention was distracted by the nose that bumped into mine, and Riddle's eyes locked onto mine, full of tempered anger and concern. She grasped the front of my robes with fingers that threatened to tear them apart, and I heard the unspoken question. _What did you think you were doing_?

I let my head fall back and the silence answered for me. _I don't know_.

=(.o0O0o.)=

Dumbledore ascended the stairs to his office, still humming. The harsh buzz coming from his left hand was muted by the quiet song of his magic, but was noticeable nonetheless. Sitting down behind his desk, he waited.

A moment later, Snape strode in. "Albus. You wished to see me?"

Dumbledore gave him a genial smile. "Quite right, Severus. Please, have a seat. I am afraid that I seek your advice in a medical capacity."

Snape stiffened. "Has Potter injured himself?"

The Headmaster brushed his concern away. "No, no - well, he has, actually, but that's rather besides the point. Harry is quite alright now. This is what I wish you to take a look at." Pulling his sleeve back, Dumbledore displayed his left hand, a gleaming sliver of red embedded in his palm. the skin around it irritated and raw.

Letting out a short breath, Snape drew his wand but Dumbledore interrupted him. "No active diagnostics, Severus."

Uncertain, Snape looked away from the wound. "What _is_ it, Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed and carefully laid his hand on the table. "An unfortunate consequence of Harry's experimentation during combat. He transfigured his blood and magic together into... this. I have my suspicions as to what has happened, but your opinion would be most appreciated."

Mind racing, Snape stared at the bloody sliver in ill-disguised fascination. "It's disrupting your own magic," he guessed, "and any spells you cast on it."

Dumbledore nodded and Snape continued. "But potions will likely be able to work around it."

"I certainly hope so, Severus," Dumbledore replied.

Muttering under his breath, Snape withdrew several potions vials from his inner pockets, frowned, and walked over to the fireplace. "I'll be right back."

Half a minute later, Snape emerged from the fireplace clutching another vial. "This is going to be tricky. I've never actually used an Absorption potion in conjunction with a Rejection draught because, well... it's usually not necessary. But it should make for a cleaner exit wound, at any rate."

Dumbledore extended his hand over desk. "I leave my hand... in your hands." Chuckling at his own joke, he watched as Snape unstoppered the vial he had come in with and withdrew a brush from somewhere within the folds of his cloak. Dipping the brush into the potion, he spread it around the edges of the shard embedded in Dumbledore's palm, ignoring the resulting grunt of pain. With a swift motion, Snape upended the vial of the Rejection potion onto Dumbledore's palm, watching as it sank into the skin where the first potion had been applied.

The pair held their breath. A moment later, the shard sank through Dumbledore's palm and landed on the table. "Excellent, Severus," Dumbledore rasped, and cleared his throat. Waving his wand over the gaping wound, he watched it seal before his eyes. "She has not called yet?"

Tearing his eyes away from the bloody shard on the table, Snape looked at Dumbledore. "No, not yet."

The Headmaster sighed. "You will answer her call when she does?"

A beat passed, and Snape answered. "Yes, yes I will."

=(.o0O0o.)=

_As I leave this world behind, I name Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore the executor of my estate. _

_All my possessions I bequeath to Tom Marvolo Riddle, with the exception of my Invisibility Cloak, which I entrust to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore until such time he deems Tom Marvolo Riddle ready for its use. _

_I hope you can find peace in your life without me, though if you could bring me back by uniting the Hallows it would be much appreciated._

_Signed and witnessed, Harry James Potter_

_May 13, 1993_

"Feeling morbid?" Riddle asked, looking over my shoulder.

Setting my quill down, I nipped her chin. "Aren't you?"

She plopped down on my lap, causing the seat to wheeze in protest. Looking over the parchment, she stabbed a finger at the last line. "Is this a joke?" she demanded.

"Hardly," I replied as I slid my hand through her hair. "I wouldn't joke in my will."

"Who has the wand?" she whispered in my ear, her hair tickling my nose.

"Not telling," I whispered back, and started nibbling on her earlobe.

"Maybe I can convince you," she said, voice wavering.

"I'd like to see you try," I replied, only to eat my own words as she started to try very, very hard.


	10. Hurricane

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N**: Sorry this took so long, and that's it kinda short. But as a result of good feedback from DLP, this is no longer the last chapter in the story - there's going to be one or two more. That, and working on other stories and having a life held me up a bit. Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

I raised my wand, only to lower it again when a shining silver doe ran up to Dumbledore. "She is calling," came Snape's incongruous voice from the Patronus.

The Headmaster nodded and I felt Riddle fall in step with me as we followed him out of the room. "It is time," he said.

A faint string of tension wound through me, and I felt myself tapping my wand against my leg to my heartbeat. I put it away and grasped Riddle's hand in my own. Her face was calm, but her anger and anxiety blazed a bright streak across our connection.

Snape was waiting for us in the Headmaster's office when we stepped inside. "The plan?"

"Destroy the snake," Dumbledore said. "Then come find me. I will keep the wards up and attempt to keep the Death Eaters occupied. Harry, Miss Riddle... you know what to do." We nodded. "Everybody has their portkeys?" Another round of confirmations, though I knew it was a meaningless gesture. We would either kill Voldemort or die trying – there were no two ways about it. "Then we depart."

Snape grabbed a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the Headmaster's fireplace. "Malfoy Manor!" After he disappeared in a rush of green fire, the Headmaster gripped our shoulders and Fawkes transported us behind a bush, perhaps fifty meters from the back of a large house. Even from this distance, I could feel the faint throb of dark power, twisted but familiar. We would have no trouble finding Voldemort – I only hoped that she would not sense us coming.

"I will hijack the wards," Dumbledore said as he drew his wand. "Disillusion yourselves and then attempt to enter the house silently, on my word."

I nodded and started to withdraw my magic from the surroundings. It would not stop me from feeling Voldemort when we were close, but her senses ought to have been less refined than ours, especially if she was still recovering from her resurrection.

I felt a wash of power from behind us and Dumbledore whispered, "Go."

We disillusioned ourselves and strode forward, feeling the wards bend around us as we passed. As I approached the wall, I could feel the malignant power intrude on my senses again, a rotten scent that I could not (_should not_) block. I suppressed the urge to shift away from it and instead pressed forward, feeling the magic grow stronger and stronger until it was nearly overwhelming. I felt a warm hand touch mine and a rush of cold, clean power washed away the magical congestion that had made it difficult to breathe.

We stood in front of the back wall of the manor, likely next to the room where Voldemort was located. After layering ourselves with enough protective charms and defenses to deflect any surprise attack short of a Killing Curse, we looked at the wall and then at each other.

"Well?" Riddle's disillusioned form whispered. "Any brilliant ideas on how to get in silently?"

"Nngh," I replied. "Not yet." I considered our situation. Getting in without making any noise was a problem, but not _the_ problem. Getting in without drawing attention to ourselves... well, that was rather more difficult. Transfiguring ourselves into and through the wall? I could do it to Riddle, but I wasn't sure I could do it to myself afterward. Then a better idea occurred to me.

Voldemort felt to be to our immediate right, so I pointed in that direction. "Go thirty steps that way and layer a few explosion and banishing spells on the wall with a release trigger, then come back here." I felt Riddle jog away and turned back to the wall in front of me.

Taking my wand, I crouched down and touched it to the wall where it met the ground. Standing up, I traced the wall with a thin but firm line of my magic above the height of my head, drew it horizontally, and then back down to the ground, forming a rectangle. Placing the tip of my wand in the center, I closed my eyes and stretched my senses out, using my wand as a focal point. When my magic met the rectangle I had drawn, I latched onto it, careful not to deform it, and pushed it forward _into_ the wall, stretching it out, creating a corridor of magic.

That done, I opened my eyes and started placing silencing and imperturbable charms around my formation, on and inside the wall. As I was doing this, I felt Riddle approach me. "Am I to assume you wanted a distraction?"

I nodded, then remember that she couldn't see me. "That's right. I'm nearly done."

She stood silent for a moment, and I assumed she was examining my handiwork.

"What are you planning on turning that into?" she asked. "A large cutting spell?"

"Too messy," I replied, stepping back. The silencing was as done as it was going to get. "I was thinking of some sort of repelling barrier, actually, to make as clean a separation as possible. Then we can just pull the door out."

"Not a bad idea," she admitted. "Don't forget to silence the ground, though."

I shot off a few quick spells at the ground in front of us. "Done. Are you ready?"

"Yes," came the whispered reply. A slight trepidation came over me, but I brushed it off.

"Don't think about it," I suggested. I reached out for my construct of magic and twisted it into a matter-repelling barrier. I noted with satisfaction how the wood where the magic was splintered apart and away from it without making a sound.

"Blow the spells you placed," I said. A second later, there was an enormous explosion of sound to our right and I pulled the newly-created door toward me with a silent _accio_. It landed on a ground without a sound and revealed a lavish, empty sitting room.

We charged in, shields up, ready to duck at the slightest flash of green light, only to find Voldemort watching our entrance from the right. Our distraction had proved useless. She seemed unsurprised to see me, as far as I could tell from her features – like Riddle's, but marred and exaggerated. Colorless skin stretched across angular bones, framing a pair of blood red eyes. Those eyes widened when she saw Riddle come in, and she hissed. "What trickery is this?"

Riddle responded with a killing curse and I followed up with a volley of darts, aiming a banishing spell to the right of her feet. Voldemort dodged the killing curse to the right, as I predicted, but the darts and banisher floundered against a wavering blue shield that she summoned. I smiled with grim satisfaction, launching a piercing curse as Riddle tore apart the shield's magic. Voldemort's dueling style hadn't changed all that much over fifty years, and I would make it her death.

"How rude of you," she taunted, and launched a dark purple curse that carried a cloud of writhing magic behind it. "I only wanted to say hello."

Riddle swatted aside the curse and slashed apart the tendrils of darkness that had detached themselves from it. We ignored her words and continued to press on the attack. It had been an unspoken agreement between us. There was not a word she could say that would sway us from our purpose, so we would take advantage of her split attention.

Blood pounding in my ears, I started on a complex, simultaneous transfiguration. To my right, Riddle blocked and deflected every curse that Voldemort sent at us. One sickly yellow curse simply shattered in mid-air as Riddle swung her wand downward with a sort of vicious glee. I could feel her battle-lust pounding in my head, but I ignored it as I finished the spell I had been weaving. With one final sweep of my wand, the ground around Voldemort rippled for a split-second, then several body-length spears of wood erupted from the floor straight at her.

Displaying reflexes heretofore unseen in our duel, Voldemort surrounded herself in a shield, but one of spears managed to nick her arm and draw a thin line of blood. She hissed and blasted them apart, transfiguring the debris into a massive snake-like construct, all the while flicking aside our curses with contemptuous ease.

The snake slithered toward us with alarming speed. Riddle jabbed her wand at it and it stopped moving, but Voldemort was a better multitasker and continued to rain down deadly curses on us. I took over the defense as Riddle began dismantling the snake, and snarled as I started grappling with Voldemort's magic. It was more difficult than I had anticipated, the magic of each spell trying to slip away from mine. I could not see how Riddle could possibly have had such an easy time of it, except for the fact that it was practically her own magic she was tearing apart.

Voldemort seemed to be taking us seriously, now that I had wounded her. She was growing frustrated, but only because she couldn't see the thin threads by which we were hanging. We were, after all, only two teenagers. Talented, to be sure, and well-practiced, but she had literally decades of experience, many of which included battling multiple aurors at the same time. Our advantages, such as they were, weren't making up the difference.

Sweat caused my shirt to stick to me and I huffed as I pushed aside another curse. I had to do something to surprise her, and there wasn't much that I could without dipping into my experiments with deeper magic – something I was reluctant to do except in the last eventuality. Voldemort was simply faster than we were, whether a result of practice, rituals, or both. There was nothing I could do that traveled the space between us faster than her perception of it, except transfiguration, and she would be watching for that – ah.

I let loose my magic, allowing it to spread around me, and shoved it forward in wave. I had to resort to dodging curses now instead of blocking them, as I was literally incapable of casting magic in this state, but I could still manipulate _her_ spells. Riddle seemed to notice that I was up to something, and starting barraging Voldemort with a steady stream of killing curses. Voldemort reacted as I would have thought – she grew irritated at the obvious insult, and focused more of her attention on Riddle. "You obviously do not appreciate the subtlety of the killing curse, girl. Perhaps I will teach you after you are turned back to my side."

I stifled the entirely inappropriate urge to laugh and watched as Voldemort sent a variation on the Ice Tomb curse at Riddle. Seizing my chance, I grabbed the spell with my magic, rent it apart, and flung back the wisps straight at Voldemort. She stumbled backward as her face and robes acquired a faint sheen of ice, and the green light of the killing curse brushed at her robes.

"Fuck!" Riddle swore, and I swallowed the bitter rage at the missed opportunity. Voldemort finally seemed to have had enough, as she screamed like a banshee and swept her wand out in a wide arc. The floor in front of her tore itself up and launched itself at us.

Simultaneous banishers did nothing to slow it down and it spanned the width of the room, so we did the only reasonable thing – we dived under it. Almost too late, I saw the trap in the maneuver and stabbed my wand into the ground in front of my face. The spell that would have turned my head into a pile of gore instead splintered the floor in a foot-wide circle, and a shard of wood sliced open my cheek.

Dashing to my feet, I gasped as a bright line of fire flared its way up my back. Some spare board must have gouged me, and I hissed as I twisted aside from another flash of green light. We had to end this soon, or we would die. Voldemort was more skilled and more creative, and left me little room to think, only react. Every time I came up with something that I thought would end it, she came away with barely a scratch. I would have to turn to my unique talents, whatever the consequences of that would be.

_Hold her_, I thought at Riddle, and hoped that she understood my message. I could feel the exhaustion that she didn't let show, echoing my own. If this last trick didn't work, we would have to run and our best advantages would be lost to us.

I slashed my palm with my wand, and seized the pooling blood with a transfiguration. It turned into a rail-thin spike, and I pushed my magic against that of the blood, firmly keeping my mind the separation between _inside _and _outside_ my body. The spike glinted and the center of my palm burned as the magic took hold, and I noted with a grim satisfaction that I was not dead yet.

A Bone-Breaker slipped through Riddle's guard and shattered one of my ribs, but barely felt it at this point. This would be the end of it. I wreathed myself in _Soulfire_ and hoped that my blood-construct would hold together for at least a moment under it. Voldemort turned her attention to me with a surprised look on her face, and I gave her a pained grin. Perhaps she thought that I wished to die in a blaze of glory. No, not quite.

Instead of allowing the _Soulfire_ to burn around me as it normally would, I grabbed it with my magic and quelled the scream of pain that threatened to erupt from me as my magic _burned_. It was necessary, I thought, and it was only the conviction that Voldemort had to die that allowed me to hold my concentration. Splitting my mind in a third direction, I used the _Soulfire_ to tear at the anti-apparition wards around me. With one final push, I broke through the fabric of reality with a pop just as an unnoticed killing curse sped through where I had been.

I appeared directly in front of Voldemort, whose eyes widened for just an instant before a dull thwack splattered my robes with blood. She glanced down to where my dagger of blood emerged from her breast and looked back up with glazed eyes. I could see the fear in them, but I moved my wand under her chin without hesitation. "_Avada Kedavra_."

I let her body slide to the floor, and released the magic that had been holding my blood together. It splashed on the floor and I felt suddenly light-headed, with only Riddle's hand on my should keeping me grounded.

A second of silence was all she spared before moving. "Let's go," she said, dismissing the cooling corpse as inconsequential. "We need to find Snape and Dumbledore."

The scene outside left me gaping in astonishment. Dumbledore stood at the edge of the wards, blazing with power. Snape flanked his right side, visibly favoring one leg. Around them lay a dozen figures in black robes and white masks. Had they taken them all down by themselves?

"Harry!" The Headmaster's relieved voice carried across the grounds.

"She's dead," I yelled back. I watched them approach with intermingling exhaustion and excitement. "It's over."

I listed to the side, and looked up at Riddle's concerned gaze. "Harry? What's wrong?"

"What?" I asked, confused. "What do you mean, what's wrong?"

"Move aside, please." The Headmaster's shadow fell across me, and I frowned up at him. Then I gasped in pain as he started prodding me with his wand.

"Oh dear," he muttered.

I sighed in bafflement, too tired to do more. "Just a broken rib," I muttered.

"Severus, quickly!" Dumbledore shouted.

That was the last thing I heard before slipping into darkness.


	11. The Day After

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N**: I'm back, and it's over. Enjoy.

* * *

Sunlight flashed across my vision as I blinked my eyes open. The familiar antiseptic smell, combined with the cool press of sheets against my skin told me that I was in the Hospital Wing. My worries faded once I remembered what had happened to cause my injuries.

It was over. The relief was better than any calming draught, and giddy laughter bubbled out of me.

There was a movement near my bedside, and I turned to Riddle with a grin. "We did it."

"So we did," she said, with a hint of amusement. "And you managed to knock yourself out from magical backlash, again. Considering your injuries..." A worried frown made its way across her face.

I shrugged and sat up, stretching. "I guess that's something I'll have to work on."

Her frown turned into a glare. "Not without Dumbledore there, you won't."

I chuckled. "So you trust him, now?"

Riddle shook her head. "I trust him to keep you alive." Getting out of the chair, she sat down on the edge of my bed. Her hand curled around the back of my neck. "More than I trust you, at any rate."

I winced in mock-offense. "Ouch, that hurts. I like being alive just fine."

"I know," she murmured.

A moment passed in silence, her side warm against mine.

"It's over," I repeated, still blissful from the burden of responsibility being lifted.

"So what do you want to do now?" she asked. "Surely you don't plan on pursuing a career as an Auror, or something just as ridiculous?"

"Well, first I plan on finishing my last two years of Hogwarts," I said, letting some sarcasm slip into my voice. She rolled her eyes. "But beyond the obvious, I was just thinking of inventing new magic. It's... interesting."

"Dangerous, too," Riddle noted, a hint of worry bleeding through.

"Show me a career in the Wizarding World that isn't dangerous," I shot back. "I suppose this is a bit riskier than some, though. What about you?"

She blinked, caught off-guard. "Come again?"

"What do you want to do?" I clarified.

She gave me a guarded look. "Well, I wanted to take over the world. And look where that got me."

"Who's to say you still can't?" I asked. "Just perhaps with a bit less murder and mayhem this time around."

"Don't even joke about that," she muttered.

"Alright, alright," I conceded. "Still, there's no reason you can't go into politics. After all, only four people know who you are, and only Dumbledore would care if you tried to gather power."

"And you wouldn't?" she asked, curiosity plain on her face.

"Depends on what you use it for," I answered, hedging. "After all, there's a lot wrong with the world. Hell, I might as well go into politics myself. Use my name for something useful."

"And if we happen to disagree on what should be done?" she asked, sending me an oblique glance.

I waved the objection away with a smile. "I'm sure we'll be able to come to a compromise."

"A compromise? Is that what they're calling it nowadays, Severus?" The Headmaster's voice came from the entrance to the Hospital Wing.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know, Headmaster," the Potion Master's dour tone replied.

I twitched and looked at a blushing Riddle. "I think they heard us. Looks like we'll have to make new plans for world domination."


End file.
